WOUNDED AND 

A PRISONER 

OF WAR 

W an Exchanged Officer 




Class. 
Copyiight]v°_ 

CQEJBilGHT DEPOSm 



WOUNDED AND A PRISONER OF WAR 




ENTLN il-: I (iKDIAl.i; 
CAMBRAI, i\OV. 12, I9I4 



WOUNDED AND A 
PRISONER OF WAR 

BY AN EXCHANGE OFFICER 



" and it is the Rreatcst danger that remains to be 

encountered by the Anglo-Saxon race." — JouN Dalberg 
Acton: The Rise of Prussia. 



ILLUSTRATED 



NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






COPYRIGHT, 1917. 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



JAN -3 rsia 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



©c!.A48iaie 






U 



X 

^ CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

o I The First Ten Days 9 

g II The Retreat 53 

III Cambrai 88 

rV Le Numero 106 121 

V Stories from Le Numero 106 . . . . 161 

VI Cambrai to Wurzburg 191 

VII Wurzburg 234 

VIII Wurzburg to England 287 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Entente Cordiale, Cambrai, Nov. 12, 1914 Frontispiece / 

PAGE •y 
Taisnieres-en-Terache, August 16, 1914 ... 121/ 

Le Colonel Famechon 92 ^ 

DocTEUR Debu, Chirurgien-en-Chef, Hopital 

Civil, Cambrai 98 

L'H6pital"io6" 126 

M. Vampouille in the Salle Cinq 130 

General Ober.\rzt Schmidt, Konigliche Erste 

Bayrische Reserve Corps 146 

Taken at L'Hopital, Notre Dame, Cambrai, Oc- 
tober 1914 156 

Germany at Home! A Member of the Medical 

Staff at Cambrai 158, 

Foundlings from La Bassee 168 . 

Photo Taken at Cambrai 

British Soldiers AT THE "106" 174., 

A Ward AT THE "106" 188- 

M. Le Vicaire-General 192- 

Festung Marienberg 238 • 

The Courtyard and Chapel, Festung Marien- 
berg 244 ' 

Festung Marienberg — Entrance to Inner 

Courtyard 292 •' 



vn 



Wounded and a Prisoner 
of War 



CHAPTER I 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 



Already on the shore side the skyline showed 
oddly-shaped shadows growing grey in the first 
movement of dawn. From the quay a single 
lamp threw its scarce light on the careful evolu- 
tions of the ship, and from the darkness beyond 
a voice roared in the still night instructing the 
pilot with inappropriate oaths and words not 
known to respectable dictionaries. There is not 
much room to spare for a troop-ship to turn in 
the narrow harbour, and by the time we got 
alongside the night was past. 

The few pedestrians abroad in the streets of 
Boulogne at this early hour stood watching what 
must to them have seemed a strange procession. 
As the pipes were heard all down the steep, narrow 
street, there was a head at every window, and 

9 



lo WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

much waving of flags and cheering — "Vive 
r Angleterre !" 

The way through the town is long and steep. 
The sun made its heat feU as we neared the top 
of the hill and passed long lines of market carts 
waiting for examination outside the Bureau de 
rOctroi. Half a mile farther on, beyond the last 
few straggling houses, there is a signpost pointing 
to the Camp St. Martin. Here, in a large field, to 
the left of the road, stood four lines of tents of the 
familiar pattern. The ground was fresh and clean, 
for we were first in the field. From the Camp 
St. Martin a beautiful view is obtained over the 
sea, whence the breeze is always refreshing even 
on the hottest morning of the summer. 

The country round Boulogne is steeply undulat- 
ing pasture-land, hedged and timbered like a typical 
English countryside. From the Camp St. Martin 
the lighthouse of Etaples can be seen, a white 
splash where the coast-line disappears over the 
horizon; and on such a day as this, when the haze 
of the sun's heat makes all distant objects indis- 
tinct, even the most powerful lens will not show 
more of the English coast than just a shadow that 
mixes with the blur of sea and sky. 

The streets of Boulogne were busy all that day 
with marching troops. At the (juayside, transports 
arrived from hour to hour and unloaded their 
unusual cargo. From a point on the shore where 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS ii 

Lyon and I were bathing close to the harbour 
entrance, we could see far out to sea a large ship, 
escorted by a destroyer. As the ship came nearer, 
her three decks appeared black with innumerable 
dots as if covered by an enormous swarm of bees, 
and when she passed the narrow entrance of the 
harl)our we could see the khaki uniform and hear 
the sound of cheering. Cheering crowds lined the 
passage of our troops, but it seemed to me that 
the people showed little agitation or excitement, and 
that anxiety was the prevailing sentiment. 

News from the front there was none. No one 
knew where the front was. The "Evening Paper," 
a single sheet, printed in large characters on one 
side only, confined itself to recording that Liege 
still held out, and that General French had gone 
to Paris. 

The battalion paraded at lo a.m. next morning 
at the Camp St. Martin for inspection by a French 
General. In all armies the ritual of inspection is 
much the same, but on this occasion the ceremony 
had a special interest from the fact that never 
before in history had a British regiment been 
inspected by a French General on the soil of 
France. The General was accompanied by two 
French Staff Officers, one of whom was acting as 
interpreter, and from the scrap of talk which 
reached my ear as they went past, it seemed that 
conversation was proceeding with difficulty. "En 



12 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

hiver qa doit etre terriblement froid," remarked 
the General. "Demandez leur done" — this to the 
interpreter — "si les hommes portent des culottes 
en hiver" ! 

Leaving St. Martin's Camp late on Sunday 
evening, entraining in the dark at Boulogne, the 
long day in the heavy, slow-moving train before 
we reached our detraining station at Aulnois, were 
experiences which then held all the interest and 
excitement of novelty. From Aulnois to the village 
of Taisnieres-en-Terache is a pleasant walk of an 
hour through a country of high hedges enclosing 
orchards and heavy pasture-land. The sunlight 
was already fading as we left the station, and when 
at last our journey's end was reached it was pitch 
dark. 

M. le Maire had plenty of straw, the accommo- 
dation was sufficient, and billeting arrangements 
were soon completed. 

Our host, a fine-looking old man, tall and broad 
with large limbs, abnormally large hands, and 
something of a Scotch shrewdness in the look of 
his eye, had served in 1870 in a regiment of 
Cuirassiers, and showed us the Commemoration 
medal which had been granted recently by the 
French Government to survivors of the campaign. 
We sat down in his parlour about nine o'clock to 
a very welcome meal, and at the conclusion various 
toasts were drunk in the very excellent wine of 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 13 

which our host had provided a bottle apiece for us. 

A sentry stood on the road outside the farmyard 
gate, where, fortunately, there was not much chance 
of his getting anything to do. His orders were to 
challenge any party that might come along the 
road, and not to let them proceed unless they could 
show the necessary pass. These passes were issued 
at the Mairie to all the inhabitants of the commune, 
and no one was allowed out after dark except for 
a definite purpose and at a stated hour which was 
to be marked on the pass. So it was fortunate 
that no one did pass along that night, as a nocturnal 
interview between our bewildered sentry and a 
belated French pedestrian would undoubtedly have 
aroused the whole company, and I might have been 
hauled out of bed in the early hours of morning to 
act as interpreter. 

The next day, the 17th, Trotter and I were 
ordered to go oflf to St. Hilaire, about ten miles 
distant, to arrange billets for the battalion. We 
started off on horseback in the cool of the morning, 
glad of the chance to see something of the country 
and to escape the daily dusty route-march. 

St. Hilaire is a picturesque village situated on the 
side of a hill overlooking a large tract of country, 
with a fine view of Avesnes, the chef lieu d'arrotv- 
dissement. In the absence of the Maire the selec- 
tion of billets was rendered very difficult, as many 
of the principal houses in the village were locked 



14 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

up, and no one could tell us if they would be 
available. After much perspiring and chattering 
in the hot sun, the distribution of accommodation 
for men and horses and the chalking up of numbers 
at every house was finally accomplished, in spite 
of the fact that at each house-door stood a generous 
citizen who insisted on our drinking mutual healths 
in cider, beer, and curious liqueurs. 

By the time we reached Taisnieres it was getting 
dark, and we were held up on the outskirts of the 
village by a sentry belonging to the Royal Scots, 
who would not let us in without the password. 
Neither of us had the least idea what it was, and 
the situation was saved by the appearance of a 
N.C.O., who at once let us through. 

On reporting at headquarters we found that 
orders had been changed, and our destination was 
to be not St. Hilaire after all, but a village farther 
north called St. Aubin. And so the day's work 
was wasted. 

At St. Aubin there was no difficulty about billets. 
The Maire had everything made ready, so that 
when the battalion arrived, tired and hungry after 
an early start and a dusty ten-mile walk, it was not 
long before dinners were cooking in the farmyards, 
and much scrubbing and cleaning of equipment was 
in progress all down the village street. 

The money for paying out the troops had been 
sent in 20-franc notes, presumably through some 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 15 

error on the part of the paymaster, so that the 
notes had to be taken to the nearest bank and 
exchanged for the newly issued 5-franc notes. The 
adjutant asked me to get a conveyance of some 
kind in the village, and to proceed to Avesnes, where 
the Sous-prefet, who had been warned of my arrival, 
would give all facilities for changing the money. 
A large bag of English silver which had been col- 
lected from the men was also to be taken that it 
might be exchanged for French money. A fat 
innkeeper offered to drive me into Avesnes, and 
after many delays and much conversation our 
"equipage" was ready. Captain Picton-Warlow, 
who had appointed himself escort to the expedition, 
looked with some dismay at the dilapidated convey- 
ance. The horse was of the heavy-jointed, heavy- 
bellied variety that seems always to go more slowly 
than any living thing. The cart is hard to describe, 
although of a kind not easy to forget once one had 
been in it for a drive. The body, shaped like a half- 
circle balanced on springs, was supposed to hold 
three people. The equilibrium, we found, was main- 
tained by the passengers accommodating their 
position to the slope of the road. The driver 
addressed the horse as "Cocotte," and we were off, 
creating much amusement through the village — 
Picton-Warlow, big and tall, perched up alongside 
the driver, trying with some appearance of dignity 
to maintain his balance and that of the cart. 



i6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Seven kilometres is more than four miles and less 
than five, and although that is the distance from 
St. Aubin to Avesnes, we managed to spend over 
an hour on the road. Cocotte, being weak in the 
forelegs, was not allowed to trot downhill, and could 
not be expected to do more than crawl uphill with 
"trois grands gaillards comme nous sommes," said 
our conductor. On level ground we advanced ("elle 
fait du chemin quand meme cette pauvre bete'') at a 
cumbersome trot. An endeavour to get more speed 
out of the driver by explaining that we had to be 
in Avesnes in time to change some money before the 
banks closed met with no success. "The banks at 
Avesnes have been closed for three days," said he; 
but if the Messieurs wanted change, what need to 
go so far as Avesnes when he himself was able and 
willing to provide "la monnaie" for a hundred, two 
hundred, even a thousand francs. However, we 
required far more than our good friend could supn 
ply, and besides, there was the expectant Sous- 
prefet, who should not be disappointed, so on we 
jogged. Avesnes came in sight long before we got 
there, as the town lies in a valley. Our horse and 
driver, equally frightened at the steepness of the 
hill, proceeded with exasperating caution. Half- 
way down the hill tramcars and slippery pavements 
reduced our rate of progress still further, until the 
jogging of the strangely balanced cart turned into 
a soothing rhythmic sweep from side to side. 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 17 

"Halte! Qui vive!" Our challenger, mi brave 
p^re de famille de I'armee territorialc, would not let 
us pass without a long gossip, his interest being 
chiefly centred in "le kilt." The horse having been 
wakened up, we proceeded at a decorous pace 
through the town and stopped outside the Cafe de 
la Paix. On the way through the streets we had 
attracted a certain amount of attention, and as we 
neared the cafe the nucleus of a fair-sized proces- 
sion began to accumulate. After our descent from 
the cart the procession became a rapidly swelling 
crowd. Telling our driver to remain at the cafe 
to wait orders, I asked where the Sous-prefet could 
be found. Monsieur le Sous-prefet was not at his 
bureau, "mais a la Sous-prefecture en haut de la 
ville; nous allons vous y conduire tout de suite." 
And up the street we all went, Picton-Warlow most 
embarrassed and suggesting schemes for the dis- 
persal of the crowd. 

The Sous-prefecture, on top of the hill, is a large 
comfortable-looking villa, surrounded by quite a 
large garden, palm-trees, and flower-beds, with an 
imposing stone entrance-gate. Opposite the gate- 
way is an open square, behind us were the curious 
crowds of Avesnois. In front, to our astonish- 
ment, the road was blocked, and two sides of the 
square filled up by a whole brigade of the British 
troops. A hurried consultation with Picton-Warlow 
as to our next move allowed time for the crowd 



i8 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

behind to form up on the remaining side of the 
square in the evident expectation of some interest- 
ing military ceremonial. The entrance to the Sous- 
prefet's house was guarded by an officer de 
gendarmerie on a black horse. We advanced 
towards this official, and after mutual salutes 
requested to see the Sous-prefet. "M. le Sous-prefet 
was receiving the generals, but would be quite 
ready to receive us too." As there was no other 
way of escaping from the crowd except through 
the gateway, we marched off up to the house, deter- 
mined to explain the situation to the servant who 
opened the door, and ask leave to wait until the 
Sous-prefet should be disengaged. The door was 
opened by a servant en habit noir, behind him on a 
table in the hall we could see caps with red tabs and 
gold lace. ''It is about time we were out of this,'' 
said Picton-Warlow. The domestic in evening 
clothes, doubtless thinking we were some kind of 
generals, said in answer to our request to be allowed 
to wait that we would be shown in at once. It was 
useless to explain that this was precisely what we 
wanted to avoid, and as I could get nothing out of 
the stupid man but "ces messieurs sont la qui vous 
attendent," we determmed to beat a retreat. How- 
ever, the obtuse domestic was equally determined 
that we should not escape. On the right side of 
the hall in which we stood were two large folding 
doors. Suddenly, and after the manner of Eastern 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 19 

farry tales, these huge panelled doors were flung 
open. The servant had disappeared and we two 
stood alone, unannounced, on the threshold of a 
large drawing-room where "ces messieurs" were 
sitting in conclave. For an instant we stood speech- 
less and motionless, taking in at a glance Madame 
la Sous-prefete in evening dress seated at the far 
end of the room, on her right General AL, on the 
other side a brigade-major, two French officers of 
high rank, and a whole lot of Frenchmen in evening 
dress with decorations and ribbons, all seated on 
chairs in a circle, a very small fragile Louis XV. 
table in the middle. The sudden appearance in 
the doorway of a kilted subaltern with two money 
bags slung ox-er his shoulder did not seem to astonish 
the assembled company, with the exception of Gen- 
eral jNI. and his brigade-major. I looked round for 
some one to apologise to for our intrusion, and was 
about to make a polite speech to the lady in evening 
dress, when a gentleman dressed in black silk, slim 
and courteous, advanced into the middle of the 
room. It was M. le Sous-prefet. In the name of 
France, in the name of the Republic and of the 
Town Council and citizens of Avesnes, he welcomed 
us. He went on at some length, dignified as only 
a Frenchman can be, and most flattering. I began 
to feel like an ambassador. When the address was 
completed, I replied to the best of my ability in the 
same strain, expressing our devotion, &c., to France, 



20 \VOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

the Republic, Avesnes, and our consciousness of 
the great honour that was being done to us, ending 
up with an apology for intrusion upon their delibera- 
tions, and proposing to retire to the place whence 
we had come. 

But the Sous-prefet would not hear of our leav- 
ing; "Ouand Messieurs les Ecossais viennent a 
Avesnes il faut boire le champagne." With these 
words he led me forward, Picton-Warlow following 
reluctantly in the rear, and introduced us to Mm*- 
la Sous-prefete. Picton-Warlow, after shaking 
hands with the gracious lady, took refuge on a chair 
next the brigade-major, while I was taken to the 
other end of the circle and introduced to M. le Maire. 
The money-bags had escaped notice, and I was glad 
to get rid of them by placing them under my chair. 
The circle broken by our unexpected arrival now 
re-formed, and as we sat waiting for the champagne, 
I was informed by my neighbour the JNIaire that the 
gentlemen in evening dress were members of the 
Conseil Municipal of Avesnes who had been sum- 
moned by the Sous-prefet to do honour to General 
M., whose brigade was to billet in or near the town. 
Not many minutes passed before the champagne 
arrived, ready poured out, the glasses carried in on 
a large tray by the daughter of the house, a self- 
possessed young lady of perhaps fourteen years of 
age. Close behind followed a younger brother in 
bare legs, short socks, and black knickerbocker suit, 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 21 

carrying a dish of cakes and biscuits. With a glass 
of champagne in each hand, our host crossed over 
to General M. and pledged a lengthy toast in some- 
what similar style to the speech which had been 
made to me. *'I drink," said he, "to the most noble 
and the most brave, as well as the most celebrated 
of British Generals." During the delivery of the 
address General M. looked most uncomfortable, 
especially when his qualifications and qualities were 
being enumerated ; in reply, he made a very gracious 
bow to the Sous-prefet, and we sipped healths all 
round. After the champagne had been drunk the 
party became more animated, and formed into 
groups, in each of which was a distinguished guest 
struggling with unreasonable French genders, and 
I was presently able to explain quietly to our host 
the motive of our visit. ]M. le Sous-prcfet had never 
had any word of such an errand ; he said that the 
banks would be shut for another week, but sug- 
gested that the Receveur des Impots would be able 
to provide such change as might be required. 
Meantime Picton-Warlow had been talking to the 
Brigadier, who had by now realised and was most 
amused at the situation. When we got up to bid 
our adieux, I heard the General say — sotto voce — 
to Picton-Warlow, "For God's sake don't go off 
and leave us here alone." When I turned round at 
the door and saluted the assembly there was a dis- 
tinct twinkle in M.'s eye, and I think the Sous- 



22 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

prefet was not without some slight quiver of the 
eyehd as he bade us a cordial farewell. 

The "Bureau du Receveur" was open, but there 
was no one about save the caretaker, who informed 
us that the "patron" had gone off with all his clerks 
"to see the English march round the town." We 
directed our steps towards the swelling sound of 
pipe-and-drum band, and mingled with the crowd 
lining the main boulevard which encircles the upper 
part of the town. P. \V. made friends with a 
French soldier who was in charge of a motor-car 
which was held up within the barrier formed by 
the circular manoeuvre of the Brigade. It ap- 
peared from what this man said that the citizens 
of Avesnes had made great preparations to wel- 
come the men, and that they were so disappointed 
on hearing that the troops were under orders to 
march farther north that General M., at the Sous- 
prefet's request, promised to march his men three 
times round the town. The whole population had 
turned out to witness the parade, and there did not 
seem to be much chance of retrieving the Receveur 
des Impots from among the enthusiastic cheering 
mob that swelled around. Our new-found friend, 
the French soldier, now took us under his wing. He 
set a number of his friends to hunt down the line, 
and several civilians joined in the search, among 
whom was our burly driver, who had got tired of 
waiting for us at the cafe. As we were now seated 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 23 

in the motor-car, and had accepted the owner's kind 
offer to drive us back to St. Aubin, we told our fat 
driver that his services and that of the horse and 
cart would not be required. Some one then came 
running up to say that M. le Receveur des Impots 
had been found and was now at the Bureau. 

The business of changing the French notes was 
soon carried through, but the English silver could 
not be changed, as the rate of exchange was a matter 
on which discussion might have lasted the whole af- 
ternoon. 

When M.'s Brigade had finished their last lap we 
in the motor-car were then able to proceed with our 
commissions. The first stop was at the chemist's. 
Picton-W'arlow stayed in the car. The chemist 
greeted me as an old friend, and I presently recog- 
nised him to be one of the gentlemen who in evening 
dress had taken part in the reception at the Sous- 
prefecture. He was now standing at the back of 
his shop in the middle of a group of stout, middle- 
aged, and severely respectable-looking citizens, to 
whom he was telling the story of the day's adven- 
ture. After my arrival the conversation came grad- 
ually round to a discussion of the Entente Cordiale, 
and the alliance Franco-Ecossaise, until I felt that 
a request to purchase tooth-paste would be almost 
an indiscretion. 

Outside, a crowd had again collected, and Pic- 
ton-Warlow, sitting unprotected in the back of the 



24 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

car, was an object of respectful yet insistent curi- 
osity. Here was a chance to see "le kilt" at close 
quarters. The good citizens (and citizenesses too) 
climbed on to and into the car to see and feel "les 
jambes nues! mais en hiver ga doit etre terrible!" 

Picton-Warlow refused to sit in the car at our 
next stop, and so we went together into "Le Grand 
Bazar." "Avez-vous des plumes, de I'encre, et du 
papier a ecrire?" "Mais ou, Monsieur, on va vous 
faire voir cela tout de suite." And we were led 
round the shop to inspect the trays wherein it is the 
custom of bazaars to display their stock. 

Simple-minded inhabitants of a wild and moun- 
tainous region (les Hig-landerrs) are no doubt un- 
accustomed to the splendour of bazaars, so the shop- 
girls watched with expectant interest. Picton-War- 
low selected the best shaving-brush (this for the Ad- 
jutant, whose kit had got lost) out of a tray of very 
second-rate brushes with nothing of the "Blaireau" 
about them except the name. "Tiens," said one of 
the girls, nudging another, "II s'y connait, le grand ! 
II a pris le meilleur du premier coup!" "Mais parle 
done pas si fort, je te dis que 'I'autre' comprend." 
While "le grand" was making his purchases, a 
French reservist, the only other customer in the 
shop, looked on with absorbing interest. The brave 
poilu could no longer contain his curiosity, and be- 
gan to follow "le grand," pretending to take an in- 
terest in the pens, ink, and paper. Just as "le gran'l" 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 25 

was choosing an indelible pencil, the poilit ventured 
to stretch out a hand and feel the texture of his 
kilt. "Mais comme ils doivent avoir froid en hiver ! 
Les jambes nues," he said, addressing me ; and then 
as "le grand" turned round, "Pardon, quel rang?" 
"Capitaine," said I in a solemn voice. The poilii in 
horror stepped back a pace, saluted "le grand." 
"Pardon, mon capitaine, je ne savais pas." "L'autre 
qui comprend," then explained the significance of 
stars and stripes, and with great difficulty persuaded 
the abashed and no longer curious soldier that we 
were not in tiie least offended at his unintentional 
breach of discipline. 

We had to drive up to the barracks in order that 
our driver could get his perniis dc rcntrec, and, re- 
fusing with regret the hospitality of the officer in 
charge, we started off for St. Aubin, arriving back 
in time to pay out before night had fallen. Before 
turning in I went down to the end of the village to 
settle up with the fat innkeeper ; we had a farewell 
drink of wine, and I paid him five francs, his own 
price, for the hire of Cocotte and the carriole. 

The five officers of D Company were billeted 
alongside H.O., who were in the big house. Our 
tiny cottage consisted of two small rooms adjoin- 
ing the kitchen, inhabited by an old couple, who, 
when I came in that evening, were sitting silently 
over the dying embers of the kitchen fire. The pic- 
ture of the old man, small of stature and wizened 



26 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

in features, and very poor, is still vivid in my mind. 
Life had left its mark most distinctly upon him. 
One could see how from early morning to late at 
night he had from childhood toiled over the hard 
earth which had drawn him down, until now his 
back was bent as if still at labour, even when at rest 
by the fireside. The two did not speak when I 
came in, but sat watching the fire. No other light 
was in the room. An occasional flicker from the 
hearth lit up the walls of brown-coloured plaster, 
the clean but badly-laid tiles, an old cupboard of 
polished walnut, the kitchen table, also old, and 
black from smoke and much polishing. I asked the 
old man if he would wake me at four. "Mais oui, 
Monsieur," he replied, "nous nous coucherons pas. 
nous autres, nous restons pour garder le feu, et si 
vous voulez de I'eau chaude demain matin on vous 
en donnera." 

These good Samaritans had provided beds for the 
five of us, a'^d they were to sit up and watch the 
fire. 

The bedroom next the kitchen contained no fur- 
niture save the four beds, each of which was pro- 
vided with a straw mattress, but no sheets or blan- 
kets. Captain Lumsden occupied a tiny room at the 
back — so small that it was more cupboard than a 
room. It was here that the old people slept. The 
bed, which took up nearly the whole space, was cov- 
ered with clean white sheets and an eider-down 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 



-V 



quilt, very new looking, as if they were used only 
on special occasions. Lumsden would have spread 
his valise on the floor had there been room, as the 
bed was at least a foot too short for his long limbs. 

About an hour before dawn the old man came in 
with a jug of hot water and a stump of candle. 
After a very rapid shave, I hurried out into the 
darkness with a little Chinese lantern bought at the 
Grand Bazar. 

We messed with H.O. at the auberge just oppo- 
site, and thither I went as assistant P.AI.C. to make 
sure breakfast would be ready. The oil-lamps were 
lit in the long low room, and hot cafe an lait, with 
round loaves of bread and fromagc de Marollcs, had 
been laid on the table. A large dish of steaming 
bacon came over from the cook's fire, which was in 
the orchard behind H.Q. This was the last sub- 
stantial breakfast that any of us were to get for 
many a long day. 

All the marching had so far been done along 
pleasant country roads through a country of hedges 
and orchards, very like central and southern Eng- 
land. But the aspect changed when, shortly after 
leaving St. Aubin, we reached the Route Nationale. 
The battalion wheeled to the left, and we were 
marching down one of the chaussccs pavccs which 
are a special feature of Belgium and Northern 
France. The cJiausscc, or centre of the road, is 
paved with large uneven cobbles, on a width of 



28 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

eight to ten yards. On each side of the paved road- 
way a macadamised surface, about three yards 
broad, slopes away at a steep camber to the well- 
kept grass accotement, which would be very nice to 
walk on were it not for the narrow channels every 
twenty or thirty yards draining to the deep, clean 
ditch, which runs outside the line of beautiful trees 
that flank both sides of the road. 

We marched straight through the town of Mau- 
beuge, which was full of French soldiers of the 
Territorial Reserve. The pavement in the town is 
atrocious, and made my feet sore; the sun was hot- 
ter than ever ; the dust, being now largely coal-dust, 
was more unpleasant than before. W'e halted for 
a few minutes just beyond the bridge over the rail- 
way, where British troops were unloading guns from 
long lines of trucks. When I turned from watch- 
ing the station I found that my platoon had got 
mixed up with a lot of Franch reservists, and that 
an unofficial and very dangerous rifle inspection was 
taking place, which was fortunately cut short by 
the order to "Fall in" coming down from the head 
of the column. 

Shortly after crossing the railway the road turns 
sharply to the right, past an antiquated bastion, 
reminiscent of Vauban ; by the roadside is a finger- 
post pointing to Belgium. What we saw on round- 
ing the corner was strange, and at first inexplicable : 
it was as if a tornado had visited the spot. Where 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 29 

a row of cottages had been was now a shapeless 
mass of ruins. The ground was covered with huge 
trees lying across each other, the branches fresh 
and green, the roots broken and torn as if by some 
high explosive. The French had been clearing a 
field of fire. Beyond the entanglement of the fallen 
trees a network of barbed wire was being laid on 
a depth of some two hundred yards. 

About two miles out of the town we passed the 
trench, of which rumour had reached us at our first 
billets. At Taisnieres we had heard that 15,0x30 
people were digging trenches in front of Maubeuge! 
The trench, deep and broad, stretched away on both 
sides of the road as far as the eye could see, and 
probably encircled the whole of Maubeuge. The 
road itself was blocked by barbed-wire entangle- 
ments, a space being left in the middle wide enough 
for the passage of a single cart. In a wood some 
few hundred yards behind the line of defence was 
a very cleverly-hidden field fortification, in which, 
no doubt, some of the famous 75 mm. guns were 
concealed. 

All along the road for a distance of several miles 
men were working hard to clear a field of fire, hack- 
ing off branches, cutting off the tops of trees and 
blowing some up by the roots. A field telephone 
along the roadside connected these working parties 
with the observation officer of the battery. 

At 2.15, tired, hot and hungry, we entered Joigny 



30 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

la Chaiissee, a long straggling village, one side of 
the road in Belgium, the other in France. 

Dinner was a very poor affair that evening — thin, 
watery soup with slices of bread soaked, omelette 
stiffened with some ration bacon. 

Next morning, while we were having breakfast 
of cafe au lait and partly developed omelette, our 
hostess bewailed lugubriously the prospect of a 
German invasion, thus showing in the light of sub- 
sequent events that she appreciated the military 
situation far better than we did. "lis vont tout pil- 
ler, tout prendre de ce cjue nous avons, ces sauv- 
ages !" 

On leaving Joigny la Chaussee we were back 
again on the highroad, forming part of a long 
column which was moving in the direction of Mons, 
distant som.e ten to twelve miles. Our enemies that 
morning, just as on the previous day, were dust, 
cobble-stones, and the sun. 

Shortly before midday the battalion halted at a 
level crossing on the outskirts of Mons, and then 
turned to the left down a side road which runs 
along the railway line, opposite a small station. The 
rest of the column marched on over the railway and 
through the town. 

We spent most of the afternoon waiting by the 
roadside ; the men sat down, some on the road, some 
in the ditch on the railway side, all thirsty, hot, and 
hungry. The inhabitants of the locality, a strag- 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 31 

gling suburb, brought along some loaves and 
cheese, which did not, however, go far among so 
many. Then came a woman with two jugs of what 
looked like wine and water. The first man to reach 
her, instead of drinking the stuff, washed his mouth 
with it and spat on to the road, and all those who 
followed did the same. "They do not seem to like 
it," said the woman as she passed me with the empty 
jugs. "C'est pourtant tres rafraichissant, de I'eau 
sucree avec un peu de menthe." Peppermint-water 
does not suit the Scotch palate ! 

Captain Lumsden and I went off to search for an 
estaminet to try to get something to eat, and we had 
not far to go. But the new-found estaminet did not 
lay itself out to supply anything but thin beer and 
short drinks. However, we got two pork cutlets 
and some eggs, and were sitting half-way through 

this welcome meal when A M , with some 

other officers, having discovered our retreat, entered 
and ordered lunch, but with little success. The two 
pork cutlets and six fried eggs had apparently ex- 
hausted the resources of the establishment, and the 
new-comers had to content themselves with bread 
and butter, Dutch cheese, and the thin mixture, yel- 
low in colour, slightly bitter to taste, which in this 
misguided locality is called beer. 

On getting back to the road we found that most 
of the officers had settled down to sleep in the ditch 



32 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

on one side of the road, and most of the men fol- 
lowed their example on the other. 

Train-loads of refugees, mostly women and chil- 
dren, were continually passing through the station. 

It was nearly four o'clock when at last the order 
came to fall in. \\'e marched back past the level- 
crossing and followed the railway line for a short 
way along a narrow paved road leading to the little 
village of Hyon, situated on a hill immediately to 
the right of Mons, where the Chateau de Hyon over- 
looks the plains and stands out distinctly in the pic- 
turesque landscape. 

The sun had not long set when the men were set- 
tled down in billets, and cooking-pots stood smok- 
ing in the village street, where the afterglow of sun- 
set still held off the twilight. 

Through the still air came the hum of an aero- 
plane, which soon was floating over the village, 
about 2000 feet above our heads, spying out our 
position — unmolested and unafraid, the first Ger- 
man Taube! 

II 

"From the Camp before Mons, 
September 26. 

Comrade, 

I received yours and am glad yourself and your 
wife are in good health. . . . Our battalion suffered 
more than I could wish in the action. ... I have 
received a very bad shot in the head myself, but am 
in hopes, and please God, I shall recover. I will not 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 33 

pretend to give you an account of the battle, know- 
ing you have better in the prints, . . . 
Your assured friend and comrade, 

John Hull." 
Quoted in the TaUcr, Oct. 29, 1709. 

The war of 1914 is in many ways an illustration 
of Alison's remark that battle-grounds have a ten- 
dency to repeat themselves, for to a student of Marl- 
borough's campaigns the whole battle-line of Flan- 
ders is familiar. In 1709 the confederate armies, 
British, Dutch, Prussian, under Marlborough, num- 
bering about 95,000 strong, succeeded by rapid 
marches in cutting off Mons from the French who 
were marching to its relief. After a most sangui- 
nary battle, which took place on the nth September, 
the French were forced to retire. 

Between 1709 and 191 4 no military comparison 
is possible owing to the new factors which have 
entered into the operations of war. Moreover, in 
1709 the opposing forces were approximately equal. 
Still it is interesting to note that in 1709 the French, 
although beaten and compelled to retire, suffered 
less, owing to the strength of their position, than 
the confederate army, and that the French retreat 
from j\Ions was accomplished in perfect order. 

The aspect of the country stretching northwards 
beyond the village and woods of Hyon is probably 
much the same to-day as when Marlborough's troops 



34 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

camped there in the autumn of 1709. From the 
dominating woods of Hyon the ground slopes very 
gradually, and is divided into irregular plots of cul- 
tivated ground, groups of farm buildings, and 
patches of woodlands; farther down the valley away 
to the right are some considerable villages; near at 
hand on the left lies the town of Mons, partly hid- 
den from view by a piece of rising ground. 

On leaving billets at Hyon on Sunday, 23rd Au- 
gust, each company marched out with separate 
orders to take up the position to which it had been 
detailed the night before, and it was about 6 a.m. 
when D company reached the appointed spot on the 
main road from Mons. There had been rain in the 
night ; the sun was already high, but as yet no sum- 
mer haze impeded the distant view. Vainly did field- 
glasses explore the country for some sign of the 
enemy, and we little imagined that through the far 
distant woods the Huns were once more descend- 
ing upon the Hainault. We, resting in the shade 
of the long avenue of trees, had not yet realised the 
imminence of great events. 

In the days of peace, when soldiering was mostly 
confined to a manoeuvring space on some open 
heath, and the route-march along the King's high- 
way, the word "battlefield" had lost its meaning, 
and was a contradiction in terms in its literal sense. 
Fields were always "out of bounds." Since landing 
in France we had not yet lost the fear of cultivated 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 35 

ground, and at every halting-place precautions were 
taken to prevent troops straying off the highway; 
and when in billets, entrance into orchards, gardens, 
and fields surrounding the village was strictly for- 
bidden. We had marched along many miles of 
long straight dusty road between the pleasant trees, 
and halted many times by a roadside such as this, 
when nothing but a shallow ditch and the conven- 
tions of soldiering in peace time prevented our entry 
into potential battlefields. The word of command 
to fall in had for so many years been followed in- 
evitably by a simple "quick march," and so on to 
the next halt. 

Now, with the command "left wheel, quick 
march," we left the straight road and entered the 
cultivated fields, marching across a piece of bare 
stubble, then over some thickly growing beetroot 
still wet with dew, and again without hindrance, for 
there was no fence on all the land ; across yet an- 
other plot of stubble up to the edge of a large cab- 
bage patch, where two sticks were standing freshly 
cut, and stuck into the ground as if to mark the 
stand for guns at a cover shoot. 

In front the unencumbered ground, cultivated in 
narrow strips, sloped evenly down to a main road 
which crossed our front diagonally, and formed an 
angle on the left, but out of sight, with the road 
we had just left. At this point the angle of the 
roads held by C Company on our le.ft fl<l.nk was, 



36 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

hidden from view by a piece of rising ground. On 
the right flank and at a lower level, No. 14 platoon 
had already started digging their trench in a stubble 
field : beyond this, and in the same line, was a plan- 
tation of tall trees, with thick undergrowth. 

The Route Nationale, with its usual border of 
poplar-trees, cuts diagonally across the patchwork 
of roots, stubble, and meadow. The distance at its 
nearest point to our trench, which is now traced out 
on the edge of the cabbage field, is just about 400 
yards; 50 yards farther down to the right, on the 
far side of the road, there is a large white house. 

Beyond the road the fields carry a heavy crop of 
beetroot, but there is here no great width of cul- 
tivated land. The irregular border of the forest 
reaches in some places to within four or five hun- 
dred yards of the road, forming a barrier to the 
searching of a field-glass at 1000 3'ards from our 
position. Away to the right the valley opens out 
like a map, with villages dotted here and there 
among green plantations in the middle distance, and 
beyond a great rolling stretch of country looking to 
the naked eye like some large barren heath, but 
showing in the field-glass the patch-(iuilt effect of 
innumerable tiny strips of variegated cultivation. 

On such a day as this, when the sun is shining 
in the distant valley, while thick clouds above shade 
and tone the light, one can see farther yet to where 
fields and woods and villages fade together in the 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 37 

blue distance, with here and there a darker tone of 
shadow, and sometimes the sparkle of sunHght on 
a distant roof. 

There was nothing in all the prospect to give the 
slightest hint of war. No traffic stirred down the 
straight avenue of poplars ; distant patches of open 
country away to the right where the sun was shining 
remained still and deserted. Overhead the clouds 
had been gathering. The trench was nearly com- 
pleted, when the rain came suddenly and with al- 
most tropical force, blinding all view of the land- 
scape. 

I determined to pass away the time with a visit 
to the white house by the roadside, and at the same 
time get a look at our trench from what might soon 
be the enemy's point of view. 

The village on the road and on our flank (half 
left) consisted of a dozen houses. Every house 
was shut up. The warm rain poured in torrents, 
and the village appeared to be deserted. I turned 
and walked slowly down the road towards the white 
house. 

I can still see in my mind's eye the picture of this 
roadside inn as I saw it that morning, as none will 
ever see it again. 

The house stood back a little from the road ; two 
steps above the ground-level one entered the esta- 
minet, a large airy room, a long table down the 
centre covered with a red-and-white check oilcloth. 



38 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Outside stood a number of iron tables and chairs on 
each side of a sanded level space for playing bowls 
or ninepins. Beyond this a garden, or rather series 
of rose bowers, each with its seat, a green patch of 
long grass in the centre, and high hedges on the side 
nearest the road, and on the side nearest the culti- 
vated fields and the woods beyond. In one of the 
rose bowers in the garden I found a sentry peering 
through the hedge. I was struck with the air of 
conviction with which, in answer to my question, 
he said he had seen nothing. The tone showed how 
convinced he was that this was simply the old old 
game of morning manoeuvres and finish at lunch- 
time. 

In my own mind such an impression was fast 
fading. The barricaded silent village up the road 
had helped to create a sense of impending tragedy. 
But the mask of make-believe did not quite fall from 
my eyes until I met the woman of the estaminet, a 
woman who came out of the white house weeping 
and complaining aloud, with her children clinging 
to her skirt. Her words I have never forgotten, 
though at the time I did not realise the whole mean- 
ing they contained, nor that this woman's words 
were the protest of a nation. 

The Germans were close at hand, she said, and 
would destroy everything. What was to be done, 
where was she to flee for safety? Her frightened, 
sobbing voice, and the frightened faces of the chil- 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 39 

dren, these were, indeed, the first signs of war! I 
told her the truth that I knew nothing, and could 
give no advice as to whether it was safe to stay or 
flee, and as I left the tidy sanded garden and stepped 
on to the main road she raised her voice again with 
prophetic words: "What have we done, we poor 
people, 'paisible travailleurs' ? What have we done 
that destruction should now fall upon our heads? 
Qu'est ce que nous avons fait de mal !" 

The warm sunshine was pleasant after the rain. 
Not a sign of life on the long straight road. Four 
hundred yards away a soldier was still planting 
cabbages along the top of our parapet. I watched 
his work for a moment through my field-glasses, and 
then turned and looked across the road at the thick 
undergrowth beyond the cultivated ground. If the 
woman of the estaminet was right, even now those 
woods might conceal a German scout. 

If at the time such a thought passed through my 
mind, it scarcely obtained a moment's consideration, 
so difficult it was then to realise the change that had 
already come upon the world. How incredible it is 
now that at the last moment of peace the prospect 
of real fighting could have still seemed so remote. 

Somewhere hidden in the memory of all who have 
taken part in the war there is the remembrance of 
a moment which marked the first realisation of the 
great change — the moment when material common 
things took on in real earnest their military signifi- 



40 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

cance, when, with the full comprehension of the 
mind, a wood became cover for the enemy, a house 
a possible machine-gun position, and every field a 
battlefield. 

Such an awakening came to me when sitting on 
the roadside by the White Estaminet. The sound 
of a horse galloping and the sight of horse and 
rider, the sweat and mud and the tense face of the 
rider bending low by the horse's neck, bending as if 
to avoid bullets. The single rider, perhaps bearing 
a despatch, followed after a short space by a dozen 
cavalrymen, not galloping these, but trotting hard 
down the centre of the road, mud-stained, and also 
with tense faces. A voice crying out above the 
rattle of hoofs on the roadway: 'Tall back and 
join H.Q." 

Now that the sound of cavalry had passed away 
the road was quiet again. There was no stir around 
the white house, no peasants or children to see the 
soldiers, no stir in the fields and woods beyond. 

Behind the closed shutters of the white house the 
tearful woman of the estaminet listened in terror 
to the sound of horses' hoofs, and crouched in the 
silence that followed. I returned slowly across the 
drenched fields filled with the new realisation that 
this trench of ours was "the front." 

The trench, three feet deep and not much more 
than eighteen inches broad, formed a gradual curve 
thirty to forty yards in length, and sheltered three 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 41 

sections of the platoon. The fourth section was en- 
trenched on higher ground a hundred yards back, 
protecting our left flank. 

At some distance to the rear stood a pile of fag- 
gots, which we laid out in a straight line and cov- 
ered with a sprinkling of earth to form a dummy- 
trench. 

The dinners were served out and the dixies car- 
ried away, still in peace. The quiet fields and 
woods, with the sun now high in the heavens, seemed 
to contradict the idea of war. Searching round the 
edge of every wood, searching in turn each field and 
road, my field-glasses could find no sign of troops, 
and nothing disturbed tlie Sunday morning calm. 
Then, far away, a mile or more along the border 
of a wood, I saw the grey uniforms. 

A small body of troops, not more than a platoon, 
showed up very badly against the dark background ; 
even as I looked again they had disappeared among 
the trees. To the left of the white house, beyond 
the road and beyond the beetroot fields, the thick 
brushwood which skirts the cultivated ground be- 
comes more open, and here the sun throws a gleam 
of light. Here, it seemed, were many shadows. At 
that moment German snipers, unknown to us, were 
already lying somewhere on the edge of the wood. 
The sound of bullets is most alarming when wholly 
unexpected. Those German scouts must have been 
using telescopic sights, for they managed to put a 



42 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

couple of bullets between Sergeant Lee and myself. 
Still more unexpected and infinitely more terrifying 
was the tremendous explosion from behind, which 
knocked me into the bottom of the trench, for the 
moment paralysed with fright. 

The battery behind the woods of Hyon had fired 
its first range-finding shell rather too low, and the 
shot ricochetted off a tree on the road behind our 
trenches. 

The situation in front of the trenches had not 
yet changed, as far as one could see, since the first 
shot was fired. An occasional bullet still flicked 
by, evidently fired at very long range. 

The corner house of the hamlet six to seven hun- 
dred yards to our left front was partly hidden from 
view by a hedge. The cover afforded by this house, 
the hedge and the ditch which ran alongside it, be- 
gan to be a cause of anxiety. If the enemy suc- 
ceeded in obtaining a footing either in the house 
itself or the ditch behind the hedge, our position 
would be enfiladed. 

One of my men who had been peering over the 
trench through two cabbage stalks, proclaimed that 
he saw something crawling along behind this hedge. 
A prolonged inspection with the field-glasses re- 
vealed that the slow-moving, dark-grey body be- 
longed to an old donkey carelessly and lazily graz- 
ing along the edge of the ditch. The section of my 
platoon who were in a small trench to our left rear, 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 43 

being farther away and not provided with very good 
field-glasses, suddenly opened rapid fire on the hedge 
and the donkey disappeared from view. This little 
incident caused great amusement in my trench, the 
exploit of No. 4 section in successfully despatching 
the donkey was greeted with roars of laughter and 
cries of "Bravo the donkey killers," all of which 
helped to relieve the tension. 

It was really the donkey that made the situation 
normal again. Just before there had been some 
look of anxiety in men's faces and much unneces- 
sary crouching in the bottom of the trench. Now 
the men were smoking, watching the shells, arguing 
as to the height at which they burst over our heads, 
and scrambling for shrapnel bullets. 

The German shells came in bunches; some burst 
over the road behind, others yet farther away 
crashed into the woods of Hyon. At the same time 
the rattle of one of our machine-guns on the left 
and the sound of rapid rifle fire from the same 
quarter showed that C Company had found a target, 
while as yet we peered over our trenches in vain. I 
will not pretend to give an account of the battle of 
Mons, "because you have better in the prints," and 
because my confused recollection of what took place 
during the rest of the afternoon will not permit of 
recounting in their due order even events which took 
place on our small part of the front. The noise of 
bursting shells, the sound of hard fighting on our 



44 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

left, must have endured for nearly an hour before 
any attempt was made by the Germans, now swarm- 
ing in the wood behind the white house, to leave 
cover and make an attack on our front. From the 
farthest point of the wood, at a range of 1200 yards, 
a large body of troops marched out into the open 
in column, moving across our front to our left 
flank, evidently for the purpose of reinforcing the 
attack on C Company. 

At 1200 yards rifle fire, even at such a target, is 
practically useless. It was impossible to resist the 
temptation to open fire with the hope of breaking up 
the column formation and thus delaying the rein- 
forcement operations. "No. i Section, at 1200 
yards, three rounds rapid." I bent over the parapet, 
glasses fixed on the column. They were not quite 
clear of the wood and marching along as if on 
parade. 

At the first volley the column halted, some of the 
men skipped into the wood, and most of them turned 
and faced in our direction. With the second and 
third volleys coming in rapid succession they rushed 
in a body for cover. 

All our shots seemed to have gone too high and 
none found a billet, but the enemy made no further 
attempt to leave the wood in close formation, but 
presently advanced along the edge of the wood in 
single file, marching in the same direction as before, 
and affording no target at such a distance. 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 45 

Various descriptions of the battle of Mons speak 
of the Germans advancing Hke grey clouds cover- 
ing the earth, of "massed formation" moving across 
the open to within close range of our trenches, to 
be decimated by "murderous fire." 

On every extended battle line incidents will occur 
affording opportunities for picturesque writing, but 
in the attack and defence of an open position in the 
days of pre-trench war, excepting always the noise 
of bursting shells, the hum of bullets and the ab- 
sence of umpires, the whole affair is a passable imi- 
tation of a field-day in peace time. 

Our position at Hyon, important because it dom- 
inated the line of retreat, was weakly held. We had 
I)ractically no supports. The German superiority at 
that part of the line was probably about three to one 
in guns, and five or more to one in men. 

The enemy attacked vigorously, met with an un- 
expectedly vigorous resistance, hesitated, failed to 
push their action home, and lost an opportunity 
which seldom occurred again — an opportunity 
which has now gone for ever. 

With half the determination shown at Verdun 
the Germans could have captured our position with 
comparatively trifling loss, turned our flank, and 
disorganised the preparation for retreat. 

The steady hammer of one of our machine-gims 
and a renewed burst of rapid fire from the rifles of 
C Company made it clear that an attack on the vil- 



46 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

lage was in progress. Then the battery whose first 
shell had nearly dropped into our trench put their 
second shot neatly on to the red-tiled house at the 
left-hand corner of the village. 

A shell bursting over a village ! Who would pay 
attention now to such a detail when whole villages 
are blown into the air all along a thousand miles 
of battle? 

Twenty feet above the red tiles a double flash like 
the twinkling of a great star, a graceful puff of 
smoke, soft and snow-white like cotton-wool. In 
that second the red tiles vanished and nothing of the 
roof remained but the bare rafters. 

Now our guns were searching out the German 
artillery positions, and sent shell after shell far over 
our heads on to the distant woods; and now the 
German shells, outnumbering ours by two or three 
to one, were bursting all along the woods behind our 
trenches and behind the main road. The noise of 
what was after all a very mild bombardment 
seemed very terrible to our unaccustomed ears! 

Still the rattle of a machine-gun on our left; but 
the bursts of rifle fire were less prolonged and at 
rarer intervals, so that the pressure of the German 
attack was apparently relaxing. The surprise of the 
day came from our right flank. 

Here the main road ran across and away diag- 
onally from our line, so that the amount of open 
ground in front of No. 14 Trench was consider- 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 47 

ably nearer 600 than 400 yards — the whole dis- 
tance from this trench to the road being bare pas- 
ture-land, with scarcely cover for a rabbit. No. 14 
Trench extends to within a few yards of the thick 
plantation which runs almost parallel with our line. 
The cover is not much more than two or three acres 
in extent, and on the far side of the wood the line 
is carried on by another company. 

I was on the point of laying down my glasses, 
having made a final sweep of the ground, including 
a look down to No. 14 Trench, when something 
caught my attention in the plantation, and at that 
same moment a body of troops in extended order 
dashed out of the woods and doubled across the 
open meadow. The sight of these men. coming ap- 
parently from behind our own line and making at 
such speed for the enemy, was so entirely unex- 
pected that, although their uniforms even at the 
long range seemed unfamiliar, I did not realise they 
were Germans. A volley from No. 14 Trench put 
an end to uncertainty. The line broke, each man 
running for safety at headlong speed ; here and there 
a man, dropping backwards, lay still on the grass. 

In the centre of the line the officer, keeping rather 
behind the rest, stumbled and fell. The two men 
nearest him stopped, bent down to assist him, look- 
ing for a moment anxiously into his face as he lay 
back on the grass, then quickly turned and ran for 
cover, A very few seconds more and the remain- 



48 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

ing racing figures dodged between trees on the main 
road and found safety. 

When the rifle fire ceased, two or three of the 
grey bodies dotted about the field were seen to 
move ; one or two rose up, staggered a few paces, 
only to fall at once and lie motionless; other two 
or three wriggled and crawled away; and one rose 
up apparently unhurt, running in zigzag fashion, 
dodging from side to side with sudden cunning, 
though no further shot was fired. 

The German attack now began to press on both 
flanks — on the left perhaps with less vigour, but 
on the right an ever-increasing intensity of rifle 
fire seemed to come almost from behind our 
trenches; but on neither left nor right could any- 
thing be seen of the fighting. The ceaseless tapping 
of our two machine-guns was anxious hearing dur- 
ing that long afternoon, and in the confusion of 
bursting shells the sound of busy rifles seemed to 
be echoing on all sides. 

Three German officers stepped out from the edge 
of the wood behind the white house ; they stood out 
in the open, holding a map and discussing together 
the plan of attack. The little group seemed amaz- 
ingly near in the mirror of my field-glass, but af- 
forded too hopelessly small a target for rifle fire at 
a looo yards' range. The conference was, how- 
ever, cut short by a shell from our faithful battery 
behind the wood of Hyon. A few minutes later, 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 49 

the officers having skipped back into cover, a long 
line of the now familiar grey coats advanced slowly 
about ten yards from the wood and lay down in the 
beetroot field; an officer, slightly in front of his 
men, carrying a walking-stick and remaining stand- 
ing until another shell threw him on to his face with 
the rest. 

Our shells were bursting splendidly beyond the 
white house, with now and then a shell on what 
had once been the red-tiled corner house, and now 
and then a shell into the woods beyond where the 
German reserves were sheltering. 

Two or three lines of supports issued forth from 
the wood, and the first line pushed close up to the 
white house ; but as long as we could see to shoot, 
and while our shells were sprinkling the fields with 
shrapnel, the enemy failed to reach their objective 
and suffered heavy casualties. 

After the sun had set the vigour of the fight was 
past, and in the twilight few shells were exchanged 
from wood to wood, although machine-guns still 
drummed and rifles cracked, keeping the enemy 
from further advance. And now, far in the dis- 
tant valley — perhaps fifteen or twenty miles away — 
the smoke of exploding shells hung in white puffs 
on the horizon, and the red flame of fire showed here 
and there a burning village in the wake of the 
French Army. 

General French had by now received the news 



50 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

of the retreat from Charleroi, and the retreat of the 
British Army was in hasty preparation; but from 
us all such great doings were hidden. 

Although it was now too dark for accurate shoot- 
ing — for even the road and the white house were 
fading into the dusk — we had selected a certain 
number of outstanding marks easily seen in the 
twilight: a stump of a tree, a low bush, and a low 
white wall — points which the enemy would have to 
cross should they attempt to approach the house 
from the left flank. A remnant of the twilight re- 
mained when the Germans left the cover of the beet- 
root field, and with my field-glasses I could just 
manage to see when they passed in front of our 
prearranged targets, to see also the sudden hail of 
bullets spatter on the road and against the white 
wall among leaping, dodging shadows. On the right 
the machine-gun was silent for a space. In front 
dead silence round the familiar shadows of the 
white house. Then a voice broke out of the dark- 
ness, and a sound as of hammering on wooden 
doors. What followed, and what atrocious deed 
was committed in the night, none can ever surely tell. 

The voice shouted again, "Frauen und Kinder 
heraus!" No description can convey the horror of 
this voice from the dark, the brutal bullying tone 
carrying to our ears an instant apprehension. More 
hammering, and then a woman's screams — the bru- 
tal voice and piercing screams as of women being 



THE FIRST TEN DAYS 51 

dragged along, and the French voice of a man loudly 
protesting, with always the hard staccato German 
words of command ; then yet another louder shriek- 
ing, then three rifle-shots, and a long silence. A 
long silence, and never more in the night did we 
hear the man's protesting voice or the terrified 
shriek of women. 

The silence was broken by leaping, crackling 
flames, and in an instant the white house was a 
roaring bonfire. Fiercely danced the flames, carry- 
ing high into the night their tribute to German ef- 
ficiency ! 

During the long silence after the three shots, we 
had all seen with eyes straining through the dark- 
ness, how shadows were at work round the walls, 
and one shadow on the roof whose errand there was 
at first a mystery, but was quickly explained in the 
light of the great blaze which rose up instantane- 
ously from a spark kindled in the darkness of the 
courtyard. 

In the ring of light thrown by the blazing house, 
the trees on the roadside, the out-houses beyond the 
courtyard, and even, for a short way, the beetroot 
fields, showed vividly against the black arch of 
night. Here, on the fringe of light in uncertain mist 
of mingled smoke and darkness, it seemed as if men 
were grouped revelling over the night's work. Now 
that the roof had fallen in, clouds of smoke hung 
low over the fields and the red-hot glow gave little 



52 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

light. Only every now and then a flame, shooting 
high into the thick darkness, threw a momentary 
gleaVn on a wider arch and showed the black shad- 
ows of men dodging back into the safety of the 
night. 

The work was well and quickly done. The pleas- 
ant roadside inn where I had idly wandered in the 
morning was now a smouldering ruin. 

There is no excuse for this ruin of a Belgian 
home. The burning was deliberate, and carried out 
with military precision under orders given by the 
officer in command, serving no conceivable military 
purpose, and prompted solely by a spirit of wanton 
destruction. 

The story of the three shots in the dark will, per- 
haps, never be clearly told, but there can be little 
doubt — there is none in the minds of those who 
heard — that both the w^omen and the man were 
brutally murdered. 

Nearly a thousand years ago this same land was 
laid waste by the Huns, who left a memory that 
has lasted down to the hour of their return, for "it 
is in memory of the Huns," says an ancient chron- 
icle, "that the province received the name of Han- 
onia or Hainault," a name which it retains to this 
day. 

Again, after a thousand years, the Huns have 
risen and left a track in Europe for the memory of 
many generations. 



CHAPTER II 



THE RETREAT 



Captain Picton-Warlow came up and whispered 
the order to retire. We had lain for many hours 
in front of our trench with bayonets fixed, expect- 
ing an attack at any moment, finding alarm in every 
shadow and fear in the rustling of night breezes. 

There was safety for a time on the main road, 
and relief in the companionable formation of fours 
from the isolation and responsibility of trenches. 

During the few moments' halt before marching 
down the road we heard how C Company had suf- 
fered heavy casualties. Major Simpson — re- 
ported mortally wounded. Lieut. Richmond — killed. 

A few hundred yards down the road a machine- 
gun flashed red in the darkness; just before reach- 
ing it we turned down a side road to the right and 
joined on to the rest of the battalion. Here, by the 
roadside, close up against a grassy bank, a number 
of men were resting, some huddled up, others lying 
quite still. Almost at once the battalion moved on 
again, leaving the kilted figures by the roadside. 

Less than an hour after leaving the main road 
53 



54 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

we halted on a steep hillside meadow. The order 
was given to lie down, and for the two or three 
hours of the remaining night the companies slept 
on the field in column of fours. 

The sloping hillside where we had spent the night 
breaks at its crest and drops steeply down to the vil- 
lage of Nouvelle, and the rich pasture land with tall 
poplar-trees in ordered array. Beyond the ground 
rises suddenly, with patches of cultivation sloping up 
to the skyline in gentle undulations. Twenty yards 
below the crest of the hill, three hundred yards from 
a small plantation, two field-guns lay abandoned in 
the open, D Company, posted two hundred yards 
from the village, were scraping into some sort of 
cover by the roadside, when a well-timed shell burst 
right between the two guns, followed by half a 
dozen more along the ridge of the hill. The enemy 
was ranging the village, and soon two shells burst 
among the poplar-trees close to our "trenches," now 
six inches deep into the hard chalk rock. 

We left the village just in time. Marching 
through the empty street between the shuttered 
houses I caught a glimpse of the two abandoned 
field-guns, and of a team of horses galloping along 
the ridge under the blazing shells. The guns were 
saved, but I never heard if the two gallant riders ob- 
tained recognition of their gallant deed. 

For several miles our road ran alongside the rail- 
way and through open country. Pleasant in the 



THE RETREAT 55 

cool morning air, and peaceful until about 9 a.m.^ 
when the enemy began to shell the road from the 
wooded hills on our right flank. The battalion then 
crossed the railway, and two companies entrenched 
across a wide stretch of open pasture, facing the 
direction in which we had been marching, protected 
from the right to some extent by the railway em- 
bankment. 

The enemy occupied a position among slag-heaps 
and factory chimneys about 4000 yards to our front, 
and as our own guns were only 200 yards behind, 
the noise of the artillery duel was prodigious. On 
this occasion the heavy guns from Alaubeuge did 
very useful work. The big shells could actually be 
seen sailing along like monster torpedoes, and at 
each explosion among the slag-heaps an enormous 
cloud of dust rose into the air. 

Our trenches possessed few of the desiderata 
carefully laid down in the Field Service pocket- 
book. The parapet was far from bullet-proof, the 
bright yellow clay against the green must have been 
visible for more than a mile, and the average depth 
of the trench was certainly not more than a foot. 
Shells were bursting here and there, sometimes far 
in front, now far behind, along the railway line 
and only occasionally over the trench, for the Huns 
had not yet succeeded in locating our battery. Prob- 
ably they were somewhat disturbed by the "J^^k 
Johnsons" from M?iubeuge. At eleven o'clock our 



56 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

guns retired and we followed suit, each platoon re- 
tiring independently. While No. 13 re-formed 
along a high wall surrounding the woods and gar- 
den of a small chateau about a quarter of a mile 
behind the trench, we had a narrow escape from 
disaster, as a shell landed just beyond the wall, kill- 
ing two men and some horses. 

We marched to Bavai without further incident, 
entering the town soon after dark. Here was all 
the confusion of retreat. Heavy motor-waggons, 
some French transport, staff officers' cars with blind- 
ing headlights, and vehicles of every description ob- 
structed our progress through the town. I remem- 
ber seeing a London taxi, one of the W.G.'s, loaded 
with ammunition-boxes. 

A mile outside the town we turned into an or- 
chard and bivouacked for the night, first dining on 
strong tea and a ration biscuit. 

There was vigour and cheerfulness in the warm 
sunrise, and the battalion quickened its step and 
recovered its usual cheery spirit as we left the woods 
and entered the open country, marching down a 
narrow macadamised road, avoiding the horrors of 
the paved Route Nationale. Later on in the morn- 
ing, one of the first duels between a British and a 
German aeroplane took place right over the road. 
The Taube, at about 4000 feet, was then following 
our march, having not yet observed, as we had, 
7000 to 8000 feet up among the clouds, a tiny speck, 



THE RETREAT 57 

gradually growing bigger. Then the Taube took 
alarm and turned at full speed for the German lines. 
The speck, now seen to be a British aeroplane, 
dropped straight down to within a few hundred feet 
of the German machine, which was circling and 
dodging at various angles, striving in vain to escape. 
A puff of smoke from the British machine sent the 
enemy crashing to the ground. 

Along the dusty road, marching in the hot sun 
with no knowledge of our destination or reason 
for such incessant toil, halting for short minutes, 
enough to ease the pack and rest the rifle and then 
on again, until the alternate marching and halting 
becomes the whole occupation not only of the body 
but of the mind — the eye finds no charm in pleasant 
countryside, and the mind gathers few pictures; 
the endless road, the choking dust, the unvaried 
pace in the hot sun. 

On again through paved country towns where 
the hard stones are hot to weary feet, down to 
peaceful villages in fresh green valleys and up the 
long steep slope on the far side and again on, now 
across open country, now through the shade of 
green woods. Here by the village pond a pedestrian 
might well sit a while and smoke his pipe, watching 
the children paddle in the brown water under the 
shade of ancient trees. Often a glimpse through 
open doors showed cool tiled kitchens with peasants 
at the midday meal. Many shops in the village 



58 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

street were closeed, with the reason therefor chalked 
across the shutters, "Ferme pour cause de Mobil- 
isation." At the Mairie, and sometimes at street 
corners, large yellow posters, still fresh and clean, 
called reservists to arms in the name of La Re- 
publique. 

We found many such towns and villages, with 
groups of men and women outside the numerous 
estaminets, offering bottles of beer and wine, or 
cigarettes; others with large buckets of wine and 
water. Glasses of wine and water were cjuickly 
seized, emptied in a few steps, handed back to some 
spectator farther down the line, and passed back 
again to the wine buckets. 

There had been some thunder early in the after- 
noon, and overhead the storm-clouds were lowering. 

Another long weary climb along the straight 
dusty road to reach a large open plateau, where 
an advance-guard of the 4th Division was entrench- 
ing, for during all that day of our long march the 
4th Division was detraining, and part of this force 
took up a position north of Solesmes. 

Large drops of rain were falling as we reached 
the crest of the hill, and soon a smart shower 
cleaned the road of dust, giving a new coolness to 
the air and a new vigour to the weary column. 

After the long lonely road it was heartening to 
see the British troops, a mere handful of men, 
making ready against the vast armies of Germany, 



THE RETREAT 59 

whose advance-guard were now hard on our heels. 

That afternoon and all that night the 4th Divi- 
sion, newly landed from England, fighting odds of 
at least ten to one, held off the German" advance, 
and then rejoined the line cf battle in the hours 
between midnight and dawn. 

Many months later a prisoner at Wiirzburg, an 
officer of the King's Own (4th Division), told me 
a story of that night's battle. When leaving the 
village of Bethancourt, fighting every foot along 
the village street in the darkness of the night, with 
the Germans pouring in at the far side of the village, 

Lt. Irvine and Sergeant entered a house 

where one of their men had been carried mortally 
wounded. They went to an upstairs room where 
the dying soldier had been carried. Irvine was at 

the foot of the stairs and Sergeant still busied 

with the wounded soldier, when a violent knocking 
was heard at the street door. Just as the door 
burst open and the Germans were pouring in and 
up the stairs, the Sergeant came unarmed out on 

to the landing. Sergeant was a big powerful 

man, who had held a heavy-weight boxing cham- 
pionship. Without a moment's hesitation he picked 
up a big sofa which happened to be close beside him 
on the landing and crashed it down on the head of 
the nearest German, breaking his neck and throwing 
those behind him into a confused mass at the foot 
of the stairs. Irvine emptied his revolver into the 



6o WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

struggling mass, the Sergeant dropped over the 
banisters, and both escaped unharmed through the 

back of the house. Sergeant was killed in 

the trenches next morning. 

Now that the 4th Division lay between ourselves 
and the enemy, a halt was made on the slope of 
a long straight hill, and the cooks began to serve 
out dinner. It was half-past five. The rain poured 
heavily. Major Duff and I sat by the roadside 
comparing notes and searching for a solution of 
our continued retreat. We knew nothing then of 
von Kluck's attempt to outflank the French army. 

For the first time since we had left Bavai a 
motor-car came down the road, making in the direc- 
tion of the 4th Division, and going dead slow, as 
the tired men lying on both sides of the road left 
little enough space in the centre. The driver 
stopped and shared our wet seat on the bank. It 
was a strange meeting for the three of us. Now 
Duff and I sought information from this driver 
friend of ours, a distinguished member of the House 
of Commons, acting as Intelligence Officer, and 
this was the answer to our inquiry : "We are draw- 
ing the Germans on!" 

Three or four shabby cottages and a whitewashed 
estaminet stand by the roadside on top of the hill, 
overlooking the valley of the Sambre. 

A few miles farther on, where a road branches 
off from the main road to Cambrai, and curls down 



THE RETREAT 6i 

the face of a steep hillside, Solesmes, hidden in the 
valley, shows the top of a church spire. The house- 
holders of Solesmes were putting up their shutters 
as we passed through the town, and less than an 
hour later shells were bursting over the pleasant 
valley. 

Not many miles away to the left lies Landrecies, 
which R. L. Stevenson refers to, in "An Inland 
Voyage," as "a point in the great warfaring system 
of Europe which might on some future day be 
ranged about with cannon, smoke, and thunder." 
That evening the prophecy was fulfilled. 

Caudry was reached at dusk, and here we heard 
the welcome news that our billets were close at 
hand. For two more miles along a narrow road, 
through the soaking rain, the battalion dragged 
slowly along. During the long twenty-five miles 
from Bavai to Caudry, the longest day of the 
retreat, very few men had fallen out; though all 
were weary through want of food and sleep, and 
many feet were blistered and bleeding, every man 
had kept his pack and greatcoat. The column slept 
that night crowded under the humble roofs of 
Audencourt. 

In the chill light of dawn trenches were being 
dug outside the village. The line to be held by the 
battalion extended as far as Caudry, and the posi- 
tion of No. 13 platoon was about half-way between 



62 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Audencourt and Caudry, close to a small square- 
shaped plantation. The rear of my platoon had 
just cleared the wood when a shell burst overhead, 
and we had the unpleasant experience of digging 
trenches under fire. 

When at last we were under cover the shelling 
ceased, having caused no casualties at our end of 
the line, although some damage had been done up 
among the leading platoon, now entrenched about 
500 yards to our left, their left resting on Caudry. 

From information received long afterwards, the 
explanation of this early morning attack is as 
follows: German scouts had, on the previous even- 
ing, already located our position in the village of 
Audencourt, and a battery, placed behind Petit 
Caudry either during the night or very early in the 
morning, had ranged the little square-shaped wood 
from the map, and as soon as their observation man, 
who was probably in the church tower at Bethan- 
court, saw No. 13 platoon marching past the wood, 
he signalled to the guns to open fire. (These guns 
were almost at once driven away by the troops 
occupying the village of Caudry.) 

The ground in front of our trenches slopes 
gently down to the Route Nationale Caudry — Le 
Cateau, which at this point runs on an embankment 
and is lined with fine old poplar-trees. This road 
was our first-range mark — 350 yards. 



THE RETREAT 63 

Beyond the road the ground rises at a fairly- 
steep slope to the village of Bethancourt. 

At the edge of the village, on the ridge of the 
hill, the gate-post of a small paddock was our 
second-range mark — 900 yards. Between the Route 
Nationale and the village the land is open pasture, 
so that no accurate ranges could be taken between 
400 and QCX) yards. The ridge of the hill runs at a 
slightly decreasing slope down to a small wood ; on 
the right of this is a stubble field, and to the right 
again, on the far ridge of the hill, are beetroot fields 
through which a telephone wire runs, the range 
being 1200 yards. Caudry was on our left, with 
the houses of Petit Caudry just visible on our left 
front; on our right the village of Audencourt, with 
two platoons entrenched strongly. Behind lay open 
country, stretching back about 400 to 500 yards to 
the road between Caudry and Audencourt; again 
beyond that for at least half a mile open country 
interspersed with small thickets. 

For nearly half an hour after the shelling ceased 
the countryside resumed its usual aspect. First 
the church tower of Bethancourt. then house by 
house, the village itself came into the full light of 
the rising sun, whose rays soon reached our newly 
dug trench to cheer us with their summer warmth. 
Captain Lumsden came along to supervise the 
clearing of a field of fire between our end of the 
line and the Route Nationale. 



64 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

O ;r trench was dug in a stubble field where the 
corn had just been stocked, and it was now our 
business to push all the stooks over. This gave 
occasion for a great display of energy and excite- 
ment. When the stooks had been laid low we made 
a very poor attempt to disguise the newly thrown-up 
earth by covering the top of the trenches with straw, 
which only seemed to make our position more con- 
spicuous than ever. The trench was lined with 
straw, and we cut seats and made various little 
improvements. Then our guns began to speak. 

At the corner of the village of Bethancourt there 
stands (or stood that morning) a farmhouse. In 
the adjacent paddock two cows were peacefully 
browsing. The first shell burst right above them. 
They plunged and kicked and galloped about, but 
soon settled down again to graze. Several shells 
hit the church tower; the fifth or sixth set fire 
to a large square white house near the church on 
the right. Our gunners made good practice at the 
two cows, and shell after shell burst over or near 
their paddock, from which they finally escaped to 
gallop clumsily along the ridge of the hill and 
disappear into the wood, no doubt carrying bits 
of shrapnel along with them. For at least half 
an hour our guns had everything to themselves, and 
it must have been a most unpleasant half -hour for 
those who were on "the other side of the hill." 

About 9 A.M. the German artillery got to work. 



THE RETREAT 65 

Many attempts have been made to describe the 
situation in a trench while an artillery duel is in 
progress, but really no words can give any idea 
of the intensity of confusion. On both our flanks 
machine-guns maintained a steady staccato. All 
other sounds were sudden and nerve-straining, 
especially the sudden rush of the large German 
shell followed by the roar of its explosion in the 
village of Audencourt, where dust and debris rise 
like smoke from a volcano, showing the enemy that 
the target has been hit. 

The Huns evidently suspected that the little 
wood on our right rear is being used to conceal 
artillery, for they dropped dozens of shells into it, 
doing no harm to anything but the trees. The 
noise of the shells bursting among the branches 
just behind us was most disturbing. Sometimes 
these shells pitched short of the wood ; they were 
then less noisy, but far more unpleasant in other 
respects. Just when the uproar was at its highest 
a scared face appeared over the back of my trench 
and stated that four ammunition boxes lay at the 
far corner of the wood at our disposal, please. 
The owner of the face, having delivered his mes- 
sage, rose up and returned whence he had come, 
doubled up yet running at great speed. 

By about ten o'clock it became obvious that the 
artillery duel was not to be decided in our favour, 
and, moreover, that it would not as at Mons end 



66 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

in a draw. I counted the number of shells going 
south and north ; the proportion was about 7 to i . 

Gradually the number of our own shells grew 
less and less as our batteries were silenced or 
forced, or perhaps ordered, to retire. As this went 
on it became evident — far more evident than at 
Mons — that we were up against overwhelming 
odds. The rush of shells reached a maximum, and 
then for a space there was silence. Pipes and 
cigarettes, up to now smoked only by the fearless 
ones, for a short time appeared on every side, and 
conversational remarks were shouted from one 
trench to another. The respite was brief, and its 
explanation at once obvious when a Taube came 
sailing above our line considerably out of rifle-shot. 
It did not need great skill or experience in war to 
know what might now be expected. The aeroplane 
came over early in the afternoon, and less than half 
an hour after it disappeared the German artillery 
reopened fire. 

This time the wood and the village were spared, 
for the Huns had silenced our guns and obtained 
exact knowledge of the position of our trenches, 
over which their shells now began to explode. 

The German infantry first came into view cross- 
ing the beetroot fields on top of the hill on our right 
front, where the telegraph poles acted as the 1200 
yards' mark. Through these fields they advanced 
in close formation until disturbed by the attentions 



THE RETREAT 67 

of a machine-gun either of ours or of the Royal 
Scots (who were holding the other side of the 
village of Audencourt). It was not long before we 
had a chance of getting rid of some ammunition. 
German troops, debouching from the little wood 
where the cows had taken refuge earlier in the day, 
now advanced across the stubble field on top of the 
hill, moving to their left flank across our front. 
My glasses showed they were extended to not more 
than two paces, keeping a very bad line, evidently 
very weary and marching in the hot sun with mani- 
fest disgust. 

The command, "Five rounds rapid at the stubble 
field 900 yards," produced a cinematographic picture 
in my field-glasses. The Germans hopped into 
cover like rabbits. Some threw themselves flat 
behind the corn stooks, and when the firing ceased 
got up and bolted back to the wood. Two or three 
who had also appeared to fling themselves down, 
remained motionless. 

The enemy, having discovered that we could be 
dangerous even at 900 yards, then successfully 
crossed the stubble field in two short rushes without 
losing a man, and reinforced their men who were 
advancing through the beetroot fields on our right. 

Great numbers of troops now began to appear on 
the ridge between Bethancourt and the little wood. 
They advanced in three or four lines of sections of 
ten to fifteen men extended to two paces. Their 



68 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

line of advance was direct on the village of Auden- 
court and on the low plateau on our right, so that 
we were able to pour upon them an enfilade fire. 
They were advancing in short rushes across pasture- 
land which provided no cover whatever, and they 
offered a clearly visible target even when lying 
down. Although our men were nearly all first-class 
shots, they did not often hit the target. This was 
owing to the unpleasant fact that the German gun- 
ners kept up a steady stream of shrapnel, which 
burst just in front of our trenches and broke over 
the top like a wave. Shooting at the advancing 
enemy had to be timed by the bursting shell. 

We adopted the plan of firing two rounds and 
then ducking down at intervals, which were deter- 
mined as far as could be arranged for by the arrival 
of the shell. But the shooting of the battalion was 
good enough to delay the enemy's advance. From 
the 900-yard mark they took more than an hour to 
reach their first objective, which was the Route 
Nationale, 400 A-ards from our nearest trench. Here 
they were able to concentrate in great numbers, as 
the road runs along an embankment behind which 
nothing but artillery could reach them. This was 
the situation on our front at aljout three o'clock in 
the afternoon. I happened to look down the line 
and saw Captain Lumsden looking rather anxiously 
to the rear. I then saw that a number of our 
people were retiring. There was not much time to 



THE RETREAT 69 

think about what this might mean as the enemy 
were beginning to cross the road; we had fixed 
bayonets, and I thought we would have httle chance 
against the large number of Germans who had 
concentrated behind the embankment. For a long 
time, for nearly an hour, the British guns had been 
silent, but they had not all retired. With a white 
star-shaped flash two shells burst right over the road 
behind which the Germans were massed. Those 
two shells must have knocked out forty or fifty 
men. The enemy fled right back up the hill up to 
the 900-yard mark, followed by rapid fire and loud 
cheering from all along the line. 

The Germans were now re-forming on the hill- 
side, and a machine-gun hidden in the village of 
Rethancourt began to play up and down our trench. 

The bullets began to spray too close to my left 
ear, and laying my glasses on the parapet I was 
about to sit down for a few minutes' rest, and 
indeed had got half-way to the sitting position, 
when the machine-gun found its target. 

Recollections of what passed through my mind 
at that moment is very clear. I knew instantly 
what had happened. The blow might have come 
from a sledge-hammer, except that it seemed to 
carry with it an impression of speed. I saw for 
one instant in my mind's eye the battlefield at which 
I had been gazing through my glasses the whole 
day. Then the vision was hidden by a scarlet circle, 



70 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

and a voice said, '*Mr. H. has got it." Through 
the red mist of the scarlet circle I looked at my 
watch (the movement to do so had begun in my 
mind before I was hit) ; it was spattered with blood; 
the hands showed five minutes to four. The voice 
which had spoken before said, "Mr. H. is killed." 
Before losing consciousness, and almost at the 
same time as the bullet struck, the questioning 
thought was present in my mind as vividly as if 
spoken, "Is this the end?" and present also was the 
answer, "Not yet." 



II 



My knowledge of subsequent events is based 
partly on information obtained from Private, now 
Sergeant, R. Sinclair, who was next me in the 
trench, and at once bandaged up my head with his 
emergency field-dressing. It was still day when I 
came back to life. My first consciousness was of 
intolerable cramp in the legs. When Sinclair saw 
that I was breathing, he laid me down on the straw 
at the bottom of the trench and tried to give me a 
drink out of my water-bottle. I was unable to 
move any part of my body except the left hand, 
with which I patted the right-hand pocket of my 
coat, where I had carried, since leaving Plymouth, 
a flask of old brandy. Red Cross books say that 
brandy is the worst thing to give for head wounds; 



THE RETREAT 71 

but Sinclair poured the whole contents down my 
throat, and I believe the stimulant saved my life. 
I have been told that while I was unconscious Cap- 
tain Lumsden came down the line to see what could 
be done for me. After drinking the contents of 
my flask, I remember sending him up a message to 
say I was feeling much better ; and the answer came 
back, "Captain Lumsden says he is very glad indeed 
you are feeling better." Sinclair dug in under the 
parapet and made the trench more comfortable for 
me to lie in; shells were bursting overhead, and 
several times I was conscious that he was covering 
my face with his hand to protect me from the flying 
shrapnel. During the rest of the afternoon I had 
alternate periods of consciousness. I sent up 
another message asking how things were going, and 
the answer came back, "Captain Lumsden is killed.'' 

When I next regained consciousness Sinclair told 
me that the enemy had again reached die Route 
Nationale. "But don't you worry, sir," he said, 
"we'll stick it all right; they won't come any 
farther." 

Just after midnight the order came to retire. 

Sinclair and the other occupants of the trench 
lifted me out, this operation coinciding with a fusil- 
lade from the enemy, who from their position on the 
road were firing volleys into the night — a great 
waste of ammunition. Still, the bullets must have 
been close overhead, for the men put me back into 



r2 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

the trench, jumped in after me, and waited till all 
was quiet. 

The second attempt to get me out was more suc- 
cessful. I was laid on to a greatcoat and lifted up 
by six men. It is probably not easy to carry along 
such a burden in the dark, and they made a very 
bad job of it. Some one suggested that a substitute 
for a stretcher could be made with three rilles, and 
the suggestion was at once adopted with most pain- 
ful results. I still rememlier the agony caused by 
the weight of my body pressing down on my neck 
and the small of the back, while my head, just 
clearing the ground, trailed among the wet beetroot 
leaves. The distance to the little wood was not 
great, but to me the journey seemed to take hours. 

As the men struggled along with their awkward 
burden, shadowy forms of the retiring company 
passed close by in the pitch darkness of the night. 
"Lend a hand here, some of you chaps," said Sin- 
clair; "here's a wounded officer. Come on, Ginger." 
Ginger, a big stout fellow, volunteered to carry me 
on his back, and asked me if I could hold on. He 
got me onto his back, and I held on with my left 
arm round his neck ; but we did not go for more 
than a hundred yards or so — the dead- weight was 
too much for his strength — when the party came to 
a halt. 

During the whole of that night I was only inter- 
mittently conscious of what w^s going on around 



THE RETREAT jt, 

me. The only men I remember speaking to after 
I had been laid down are the Regimental Sergeant- 
Major and Lieutenant Houldsworth. The Regi- 
mental Sergeant-Major laid his mackintosh on the 
ground for me to lie on. To Houldsworth I said 
what a fine thing it was the men carrying me out 
of the trench ; and he replied, "It is nothing at all, 
but very natural," or words to that effect. 

My one fear at this time was to be left behind 
and taken prisoner, and the one hope, a very forlorn 
one, was that the battalion stretcher-bearers would 
be able to carry me away. But I heard some one 
in the dark say that there were no stretchers, and 
that orders had come to retire and leave all wounded. 

There was shuffling about of men and whispered 
orders, then the not very distant tramp of march- 
ing along the road, a sound which grew fainter and 
fainter, till all in the night was silent : the battalion 
had gone. 

After an indeterminate time — perhaps half an 
hour, perhaps an hour — 1 opened my eyes. I was 
not alone. Two kilted forms, indistinct and vaguely 
familiar, were seated on the ground close beside 
my head. 

"Who are you?" I said, "and what are you doing 
here?" 

"Macartney and Sinclair," replied the voice. 

Macartney was the soldier w^ho had acted as 



74 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

servant for me since leaving Plymouth, but the 
name of Sinclair was not familiar. "Who is Sin- 
clair?" I asked; and I remember the words of his 
reply: "The soldier, sir, who looked after you in 
the trench." 

Each effort of speech and thought resulted in a 
short period of unconsciousness. 

When I next recovered there was the sound on 
the road of marching men. Sinclair went off to 
find out who they were, and ask (vain and foolish 
hope it now seems) if they had stretchers or an 
ambulance ! 

He came back to say that two companies of the 
Royal Scots were marching down the road ; they 
had no stretcher-bearers; the Major in command 
of the party, when he heard that Sinclair and 
Macartney remained behind, ordered them to rejoin 
their battalion. This the two soldiers at first 
refused to do, and only left on receiving a direct 
order from me. Sinclair went off first. Macartney 
stopped behind a moment to speak. "Have you 
any last message to send back to your family?" was 
what he said. But to this question I distinctly 
remember answering "No" ; and also saying, or 
perhaps only thinking, that I would be my own 
messenger home to Scotland. 

Macartney also disappeared into the night, and 
this time I was really alone. 



THE RETREAT 75 

III 

What had happened in the meantime to the 
battalion which had marched off in the dark while 
I lay at the corner of that little wood does not 
belong to the story, but the adventures of the soldier 
who sat so long in the night by my side have an 
indirect bearing on my own history. 

The following letter was written by Sinclair at 
Caudry, and posted on his escape from enemy 
territory : — 

Caudry, Nord, France. 

Dear , — This last week has been the worst 

week I ever put in in my life. Since Sunday morn- 
ing, 23.8.1 1, we have been fighting nearly every day, 
and to make it worse, we are being driven back by 
overwhelming numbers, but hope to get support 
soon. As I am in a house in this town, and can't 
move from the garret lest I be seen, as the house 
is now in the hands of the Germans, but, thank 
'God, the people I am with are our friends, I know 
I will be safe till some arrangement is made about 
getting away. I am not the only one that is here ; 
there are some poor fellows who have been in a 
cellar here since our retreat from this place. I know 
you will be wondering why I am left at the town, so 
I will try and explain. The officer who was in the 
trench with another four men and me was shot 



76 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

through the head early in the engagement, but after 
a while he came to his senses, but found he had 
lost the power in his legs and right arm. Well, 
as it happened that I was next him, it fell to me to 
make him as comfortal)le as possible, as it was 
impossible to get him shifted before dark. 

We held the trenches till about 12 p.m., when 
we got the order to retire. When the officer heard 
that we were to retire he seemed very much cut 
up about it, as it meant that he would be left behind 
to be taken prisoner. 

We did not care to leave him, so four of us put 
him on a coat and carried him about li mile to 
where the regiment was to meet ; when we got there 
we found there were no stretchers to put him on, 
so another officer gave us an order to leave him, 
and then decided to leave two men with him. Well, 
as we were left to do our best for him, by this time 
the battalion had passed, and not a stretcher was 
to be found. 

Hearing another regiment passing, I sent the 
other man to try and get a stretcher or a horse; 
but when he asked for a stretcher, the officer of the 
other regiment asked what it was for, then told him 
he was to go back at once and leave a water-bottle 
and take any message, and that both of us were to 
fall in in rear of his battalion at once. When our 
officer heard of this he told us to obey orders, so 
what could we do? We made him as comfortable 



THE RETREAT tj 

as possible, then went to rejoin the battalion, but 
found that we had missed the road they had taken, 
so we were lost. 

We decided to sit in a field till daylight came, 
and with it came an officer of the Royal Irish, and 
four men who were in the same boat as ourselves. 
So we joined with them to try and find our way, 
but we did not get more than three miles when we 
ran into the enemy, — then it was every man for 
himself. I heard after from the village people that 
five of them were made prisoners. Anyhow I have 
not seen any of them since. 

Well, when I got away I hid at the back of a 
garden ; they made search for me, but I happened 
to escape from their view. I had to sit in the same 
spot for over seven hours till all the Germans were 
clear of the place, and they were a mighty lot to 
pass. However, after a time the man who owned 
the garden got his eye on me; he then started to 
work about his garden. When he came up my 
length he dropped a loaf from under his jacket; it 
was very acceptable, as I was feeling very hungry. 
I thought it was about time I was moving, l)ut did 
not know which way to go. I then decided that I 
would go back and see how my officer had got on, 
but did not get far when I struck into another lot 
of the enemy, and had to sit tight for another two 
hours. After that I got the place where our officer 
was left, but found that he was away from that 



78 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

place. I have since heard that he is in hospital at 
this place — Caudry. I then thought it would be 
advisable to make for Maubeuge, as I knew that 
there was a large fort there; but when I made 
inquiries from the people as to the direction, all 
they would tell me was that the enemy was all 
round, and it would be impossible to get away 
from here. 

In fact, I had been very lucky to get as far as 
I did without being caught, so they advised me to 
hide my kit and rifle, and put on civilian clothes till 
such time as the road gets cleared of the enemy. 
After having changed my clothes, one of them 
brought me to this town, and left me at this 
house. . . . 

PS. — I am trying to escape from this place 
to-night. 

7485 Pte. R. Sinclair, 

D Co.. 

Batt., 

Inf. Brigade, 

3rci Div. 

The night passed slowly by the little wood among 
the beetroot, where I had been left with my rolled-up 
mackintosh for a pillow, and a shell-torn greatcoat 
for shelter from the drizzling rain. On my left the 
burning village of Audencourt, less than half a 
mile away, lit up the niglit with a steady glow which 
occasionally leapt into flame. On the right, some 



THE RETREAT 79 

distance away, a house, or houses, flamed high for 
a long time, and then all was black and dark again. 
The slowly moving dawn showed that I was lying 
within ten or twelve yards off the road which runs 
from Beaumont across the fields to the road between 
Caudry and Audencourt. 

As I looked towards Audencourt a man in khaki 
came running. At the sound of my whistle he 
leapt aside like a deer, then when he saw me lying, 
ran up. I asked to be lifted down into the sunken 
road, as I was afraid of lying out in the open on 
account of possible shell fire. The soldier (a man 
in the Irish Rifles) took me by the shoulders and 
dragged me down the bank, made me as comfortable 
as he could, and then ran off down the road, crossed 
the road between Caudry and Audencourt, and 
disappeared across country. Hardly had he dis- 
appeared from view when two shells exploded 
somewhere behind me. 

It was now clear, but not full daylight. Two 
French peasants came up the road ; I tried to call 
to them with the purpose of getting carried away 
on a cart, and so avoid being taken prisoner. But 
the peasants were frightened to come near me ; they 
made a detour in the field, and joined the road again 
fifty yards higher up. 

The first I saw of the Germans was a small party 
of about seven or eight advancing across the field 
on my left in extended order. The one nearest to 



8o WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

hand saw me, and calling the others, they all came 
and stood on the road in a circle. Their attitude 
was distinctly sympathetic, but I was too far gone 
to struggle with their language. 

I watched these men following the line taken by 
the Irish soldier, and wondered if they were tracking 
him, and would overtake him. 

Before very long another and larger party 
appeared beside me on the road, but I was quite 
unable to speak to them, and after stopping to 
stare, they went on their way. 

The whole tide of invasion was now sweeping 
over the land. Several Uhlans galloped past across 
the fields, and the road from Audencourt, which 
was about 150 yards from where I lay, was filled 
with a procession of machine-guns and transport 
waggons. 

For some inexplicable reason I now tried to get 
away. By seizing a tuft of grass in the left hand 
I could move along a few inches at a time. After 
advancing in this manner about a foot along the 
edge of the road, I collapsed from exhaustion, and 
drew the greatcoat over my head. I do not know 
how long I had been thus covered up when I heard 
a shout, and peeping through one of the holes in 
the coat saw a German soldier standing on top of 
the bank. He was gesticulating and pointing to his 
revolver, trying to find out if I was armed! but he 
soon saw I was past further fighting. 



THE RETREAT 8r 

He offered me a drink from his water-bottle, and 
pointed to the Red Cross on his arm. I can never 
hope to convey to any one what a rehef it was to 
me to see the cross even on the arm of an enemy. 
The man asked me if I could walk, tried to lift me 
up, and when he saw I was paralysed said he would 
go for a stretcher. 

"You will go away and leave me here," I said. 

"I am of the Red Cross," he replied; "you are 
therefore my Kamarad and I will never leave you." 

I gave him my whistle. Before going off to seek 
for help he stood on top of the bank looking down 
on me where I lay, and pointed once more to the 
Red Cross badge. "Kamarad, Kamarad, I will 
come back; never fear, I will come back." 

I covered up my head again and fell into a semi- 
conscious stupor. 

The sound of a step on the road aroused my 
attention, and for a brief instant my eyes seemed 
to deceive, for they showed me the tall figure of an 
old man dressed in a white overall. Behind him 
were two youths carrying a stretcher. 

The figure spoke in French : "Are you a wounded 
British officer? There are three that I am looking 
for; do you know where the others are?" 

I told him our trenches were close behind; and 
as he and his acolytes were off at once for further 
search, leaving the stretcher on the road, I added. 
"First put me on the stretcher." To lie on the 



82 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

stretcher after the hard ground was inexpressible 
relief to my paralysed limbs. Soon the white figure 
returned. "We have found them, but they are both 
dead, ct un d'cux a I'air si jciinc." The sun was 
shining with vigorous warmth. One of the boys 
shaded my head with his cap, and we were about 
to start when my friend of the German Red Cross 
appeared on top of the bank with a stretcher. At 
the same time our little group was joined by a young 
Uhlan officer. The German Red Cross man wished 
to transfer me to his stretcher, and the old man in 
white was determined not to let me go. The begin- 
ning of a discussion instantly ceased on the arrival 
of the German officer, who, speaking French with 
ease, turned first to the old Frenchman, "Where is 
your Red Cross armlet? What authority have you 
to search for wounded?" 

The old man drew from his pocket a Red Cross 
badge, which seemed sufficient authority. The 
officer, sitting on his horse between the two 
stretchers, then looked down at me, "Choisissez," 
he said. 

I answered him with a smile, "J'y suis j'y reste." 

The German Red Cross soldier came up to my 
stretcher and took my hand, "Adieu, Kamarad." 

The young German officer leant over and offered 
me a piece of chocolate. "Why have you English 
come against us?" he said; "it is no use. We shall 



THE RETREAT 83 

be in Paris in three days. We have no quarrel 
with you English." 

His eyes sparkled with the joy of victory, yet as 
he rode off I knew that some day his turn would 
come to lie even as I was. 

At the entrance, or near the entrance to the 
village of Caudry, we were stopped by another 
officer on horseback. This time the colloquy was in 
English. "Officer? What regiment? Good! 
What Brigade?" 'T don't know." "How many 
divisions were you?" "I don't know." "Ah, you 
won't tell me, but I know there were four divisions. 
We have captured men from many different regi- 
ments. Pass on." 

On the way through the village the stretcher party 
was held up by the passing of a grey-coated infantry 
regiment. I have in my mind just a glimpse of the 
houses in the village, and one of them wrecked by 
a shell, but I was too exhausted to keep my eyes 
open when my stretcher was put down outside the 
school, which had been turned into a field-ambulance 
during yesterday's battle. 

The French have many qualities, but order in 
emergency is not one of them. 

A crowd of civilians blocked the entrance to the 
school, and swarmed chattering around my 
stretcher: "II est mort! Mais non il n'est pas mort, 
il respire ! Mais je dis qu'il est mort !" 



84 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

I settled the discussion by opening one weakly- 
indignant eye. 

On being carried into a room which is on the 
right as you go in at the lobby, I was put on a 
table. Part of the crowd from the street followed 
on behind. Some one at once took my boots off, 
and forgot to give them back again. The doctor 
took off my bandage and applied something which 
felt like snow to the top of my head, then whis- 
pered in my ear, "Do not speak, do not think ; keep 
quiet if you wish to live." 



Meublcz vous 
a la Maison 

CAMILLE WANFXQ, 
Spccialite dc i6o Rue St. Quentin, 

Bureaux Ainericains. C.audry. 

Livraison a domicile. 



The furniture had been removed from la maison 
Camille Wanecq and the shop turned into a hospital 
ward. The tall grey-bearded man in the white coat, 
who had taken complete charge, brought me to this 
house, which was opposite his own. Here on the 
night of the 26th word had been left that three 
British officers were lying wounded near the village 
of Audencourt. At daybreak M. Heloire had put 
on his white overall (he is a veterinary surgeon), set 



THE RETREAT 85 

out with a stretcher, and searched until he found 
me lying by the roadside. 

Still under the guidance of ]\I. Heloire, I was 
taken through the shop up to a room on the first 
floor. The staircase is very steep, and they had 
great difficulty with the stretcher. I distinctly 
remember wondering if a coffin would present equal 
difficulties on the way down. 

For the first time I began to feel great pain in 
my feet. There was also an awful twitching, jerky, 
sawing movement of the right arm, over which I 
had no control. This spasmodic movement was 
only stilled by the injection of morphia. 

When the effects of the first injection began to 
pass off, I was conscious of some one sitting by the 
bedside, and, feeling very thirsty, I asked the 
shadowy form "a boire." The shadow did not 
respond, and after a while made the following 
remark : "I dunno what 'e is saying ; 'e must be off 
his chump." 

My brain was scarcely able for thought in more 
than one language, and it was after a long pause 
that I said in English, *'\Vho the devil are you?" 

The voices said they were English Red Cross sol- 
diers, and had been sent in to look after me by a tall 
old gentleman dressed in a white coat. 

Now this most excellent M. Heloire had acted as 
he thought for the best, but the result was not at 
all a happy one for me. Whenever I wanted any- 



86 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

thing the soldiers went downstairs and brought up 
somebody to whom I had to interpret my require- 
ments. In my exhausted condition this was 
impossible. The request for a drink and the short 
conversation with the soldiers had nearly finished 
me off, but I made one more effort to a large French- 
speaking shadow. I said, "Renvoyez les anglais." 

And so the English soldiers were sent away, and 
I came under the care of Marthe and Madeleine. 

To my dim consciousness all persons were mani- 
fest as shadows. Marthe and IMadeleine took turns 
watching me day and night. Marthe sat weeping; 
a long, long way off her shadow seemed, yet in an 
instant that same shadow was bending over the bed. 
"A boire." The water remained untasted ; some of 
it trickled down my face. Then they tried in vain 
to get me to suck the liquid up a straw. I could 
hear every word spoken in whispers round my bed. 
"II faut aller chercher M. le Cure et M. Heloire," 
and some one at the door murmured in a low voice, 
"II va mourir cette nuit le pauvre." My own 
thoughts were monopolised by the thirst of fever. 
Deep black shadows now hovered round my bed. 
There seemed to be two — one larger and more active 
than the other. A voice full of pity asked me if I 
wished to make my confession. The possibility of 
speech was far away, and even to think was an 
effort that seemed dangerous. Seeing that I was 
too weak to make any response, the two Cures 



THE RETREAT 87 

administered Extreme Unction. The sound of 
prayers, which seemed so far away, mingled with 
the tramp of soldiers, martial music, the rattle of 
wheels on the cobble-stones, the ceaseless tumult of 
invasion which for two days and two nights rolled 
on through the paved streets of Caudry. 

It was indeed a feeble dam which from the 23rd 
to the 26th had held back such a torrent as, while 
I lay there listening, was flowing on triumphant 
and irresistible. 

Early next morning M. le Cure returned. 

"Yes," said Marthe, "he is better; see, he can 
drink from a glass." Marthe and Madeleine were 
arranging a table, some one in the room was weep- 
ing, the shadows moved and prayed. 

There is between life and death a period when 
the normal process of thought comes to an end — a 
new mode of consciousness is taking the place of 
the old — the soul, standing on the threshold, looks 
back at the body lying helpless. 

During the night, in that little room in Caudry, 
while Marthe sat by my bedside and wept, I was 
slowly discovering another self, distinct from the 
body lying on the bed, and yet connected with it in 
mist and shadow ; and this was the shadow of death. 



CHAPTER III 



CAMBRAI 



"En haut! Montez au numero sept," shouted a 
shrill female voice ; "c'est un officier, il faut le 
mettre au numero sept." 

And so I became No. 7, Hopital Civil, Cambrai. 
My room was a small one on the first floor; the 
furniture consisted of two beds and two iron 
stands. The floor was polished, the walls painted 
a dull brown, the door of iron, with upper panel 
of glazed glass. It was some time before these 
surroundings presented themselves to my view. At 
least forty-eight hours I remained without much 
consciousness, thankful in my lucid intervals that 
the jolting of the cart which brought me the eight 
miles from Caudry had ceased, thankful for the 
oft bed and the quiet cool room. 

I wonder if Dr. Debu remembers his first visit 
to me as well as I do? My memory of all that 
happened during these days is very clear. 

I could not }et see faces, to me nurse and doctor 
were different coloured shadows, yet I remember 
well the nurse whispering to the doctor, *'he is very 



CAMBRAl 89 

bad," and the doctor answering, "Oui ! mais je crois 
qu'il va s'en tirer." I do not remember exactly 
when I began to recognise faces and to speak. They 
told me later, but at the time I did not realise that 
the words came singly and with great difficulty, as 
if the language was unfamiliar. 

My powers of speech were stimulated by a visit 
from Madame la Directrice of the hospital, who 
came to my bedside speaking with weird gestures in 
a strange tongue. It occurred to me that she might 
perhaps be trying to speak English, and so I 
addressed her slowly as follows : "Mettez vous 
bien dans la tete, Madame, que je parle le Frangais 
aussi bien que vous." After that day no one in the 
hospital made any further attempt to practise Eng- 
lish at my bedside. 

The adjoining bed was occupied for a short time 
by a French Colonel, who had been shot through 
both thighs and seemed in great pain. The whole 
night long he kept up a constant groaning, with 
intermittent exclamation in a loud voice, "Je suis 
dans des souff ranees atrrroces." These Marseillais 
are a most talkative race. This one was also very 
deaf. 

Attempts at conversation with me were hopeless, 
as he could not hear my whisper. However, he 
found consolation by talking to himself about him- 
self most of the night. 

When the nurse came in next morning she paid 



90 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

no attention to the old Colonel, whose wounds, 
although severe, were not dangerous, but after 
taking my temperature she looked anxiously at the 
thermometer. 

My temperature was up two points ! 

That morning the Colonel was removed to 
another part of the hospital. 

As the window of my room could not be opened, 
I was taken into an exactly similar room on the 
opposite side of the corridor. This was a pleas- 
anter room than the other, it got the morning sun, 
and the window opened on to the kitchen garden. 
Shortly after moving into this room two visitors 
came to see me. One was M. le Medecin Chef, who 
was afterwards imprisoned at the Hopital io6. At 
this time, however, he was allowed by the Germans 
to visit the hospitals. I was quite unable to speak 
the day he came to see me, but was able to recognise 
and wonder at the French uniform. 

My other visitor was a German officer. I can 
only vaguely remember that he was tall, well-built, 
and I think wore a beard. He spoke English 
fluently, and said that he used often to visit Cairo 
many years ago, when one of the battalions of my 
regiment was stationed there. I asked him if he 
would send news of me to England. He sat down 
by my bed, and put my name and regiment down 
,in his note-book. 

^he -post-card he sent, which reached the War 



CAMBRAI 91 

Office via Geneva, was signed von Schwerin. It 
may seem a small thing to be grateful for, but the 
sending of that post-card was a very hard favour to 
obtain and a very great favour to be granted. 

During the first few months of the German 
occupation of Cambrai no messages or letters were 
allowed to leave the district, and the severest penal- 
ties were imposed on those who were caught 
attempting to get letters out of the country. It was 
said that two German officers were sent home in 
disgrace for writing to Geneva on behalf of a 
wounded prisoner. 

On September 15 a French Red Cross nurse 
came in to see me at 10 o'clock in the evening. 
She was a tall, fine-looking woman, dressed in a 
large heavy coat. After asking my name, she said 
she had a letter to give me from an officer of my 
regiment. 

The letter, written in pencil, on a page from an 
exercise book, was as follows: — 

Caudry Hospital. 

My dear M., — So glad to hear you are going on 
all right, as I heard you had a bad wound in the 
head, which sounded serious. I saw a priest a few 
days ago who told me there was an officer of my 
regiment at Cambrai, and I presumed it must be 
you. 

I also heard you were brought to the hospital the 



92 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

day I was brought in, but had left by the time I 
got here. 

I hear our regiment was captured en bloc at 
Bertry; they marched slap into the Germans in 
the dark, so we may be better off where we are. I 
hear M., M., and L. were killed the day we got 
wounded. 

We are very well done here; it is rather an 
amateur show, but every one does what they can 
for us. I got a bullet across my scalp, but it is 
nearly healed now, and I am up and about. I 

expect Btt. must be in the country by now 

somewhere, but I don't know. 

I hope this finds you in good spirits. I think we 
may hope to be relieved soon. Best luck. — Yours 
ever, A. A. D. 

A nurse from Cambrai is here who has kindly 
volunteered to take this back with her. 

The nurse told me that she was returning to 
Caudry next day and would take back an answer. 
She also added that my friend hoped to escape. 

Next morning I was able to scrawl two or three 
lines, holding a pencil in the right hand and pushing 
it along with the left. 

Major D. succeeded in getting away from 
Caudry, and after many adventures crossed safely 
over the Dutch frontier. 




LE COLONEL FAMECHON 



CAMBRAI 93 

During the first month of my stay in the hospital, 
with a French surgeon, French nurses, and French 
soldier orderlies, there was little to remind me of 
the fact that I was a prisoner of war. 

No one in the hospital believed that the Germans 
would remain at Cambrai for more than a few 
weeks. The arrival of the French troops was 
expected and hoped for from day to day. Opti- 
mists declared that in a week the city would be 
delivered, and only the most pessimistic put off the 
joyful day to the end of September. The prevail- 
ing belief that the Germans would soon be driven 
out of the country was strengthened by the vague 
reports of disaster to the German arms which were 
current in Cambrai after the battle of the Marne. 

At this time every story, however improbable, 
found ardent believers. French and British troops 
were seen hovering on the outskirts if not at the 
very gates of the city. It was even asserted that 
somebody had seen Japanese troops! 200,000 of 
whom had landed at Marseilles some few days 
before ! The suppression of all newspapers left the 
universal craving for news unsatisfied, and the 
daily paper was replaced by short t3^pe-written notes 
which were secretly passed from hand to 
hand. I remember the contents of one of these 
compositions which was handed me by a visitor 
with great parade of secrecy and importance. 

It was composed of brief short sentences: 



94 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

"Cambrai the last town in German occupation. 
Germans retiring all along the line. Maubeuge re- 
occupied by French and British troops. Revolution 
in Berlin. Streets in flames. Death of Empress/' 

All such absurd stories probably emanated from 
a German source and represent some obscure form 
of German humour. 

The most exciting incident which took place at 
Cambrai in September was the visit of two areo- 
planes, either French or English, which flew over 
the town just out of rifle range. 

The aviators were greeted with a tremendous 
fusillade, which was started by the sentry on the 
church tower close to my window. For nearly 
ten minutes rifles, machine-guns, and artillery kept 
up a steady fire. The nurses who had rushed out 
to see the areoplanes soon came runing back, as 
bullets were falling on the hospital roof. 

The sequel of this first air raid was long a 
subject of discussion. The Germans allege that 
bombs were dropped by the aviators. The French 
declare that German guns fired at them from out- 
side the town, and that the shells fell and exploded 
in the town. 

The casualties were 7 civilians and 15 Germans 
killed, and a number of wounded. Seven horses 
were killed on the Place du Marche. 

When the firing ceased a poor woman and her 
little child of three years old were brought into 



CAMBRAI 95 

the hospital very severely wounded. The mother's 
leg had to be amputated, and the poor little baby 
had one of its arms taken off. 

Although the German authorities blamed the 
British, it is hardly likely that bombs were dropped 
on Cambrai in September 19 14, and there can be 
little doubt that the damage was caused by German 
shells. 

During the first two or three weeks of my stay 
at the hospital I saw very little of either the surgeon 
or the two nurses, with whom afterwards I came 
to be on terms of great friendship. At that time 
the number of wounded was so great that the nurses 
had not a single minute to spare. 

The hospital was overflowing with the wounded 
soldiers ; many died within a few hours of arriving, 
and many more died in the operating-room. The 
number of severe cases was so great that it was 
impossible that all should receive the needful atten- 
tion in time. Dr. Debu spent twenty-four hours at 
a stretch in the operating-room. 

More and more wounded kept arriving, until 
every bed was occupied and wounded men were 
lying in the corridors, and many were turned away 
from the door because there was no room. 

From the 27th of August to the first days of 
September, the increasing number of deaths In the 
hospital made it more and more difficult to make 
arrangements for removing the bodies to the ceme- 



96 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

tery. It was therefore suggested that graves should 
be dug in the hospital garden opposite my window. 

The graves were actually dug, but were too 
shallow and could not be used. The open trenches 
remained empty for some weeks, until some of the 
wounded soldiers took on the job of filling in the 
earth. 

Two nurses had charge of the ward and rooms 
on our floor — Mile. Waxin, one of the hospital 
permanent staff, and Mile. Debu, the surgeon's 
daughter. 

ivllle. Waxin had also charge of the operating- 
room; she was as clever as a surgeon and as strict 
as a gendarme with her patients. Rather under the 
average height, her figure inclined, but very slightly, 
to plumpness. Very dark eyes that could sparkle 
and also look severe. A young, round, rosy, but 
very determined face. A typical French girl. 

Mile. Debu, although without hospital training 
and with no previous experience of nursing, volun- 
teered from the first day of the invasion to help in 
her father's hospital. Mile. Debu showed the true 
spirit of France. She was only nineteen. Never 
for a moment did she lose courage. From the very 
start she worked with the skill and endurance of a 
trained nurse, and her face, ever quick to smile, 
never betrayed, even for a moment, the fatigues 
and worries of the day. 

When the rays of the morning sun lit up the top 



CAMBRAI 97 

of the glass door it was time for breakfast, and 
punctually to the minute Mile. Debu appeared with 
a cup of chocolate which she made for me herself. 
"Bonjour, Monsieur le numero sept," the brown 
eyes twinkled and the dimple smiled at the daily 
jest 

The days passed very slowly. I was too weak to 
read, and even the occasional visit from a wounded 
French or British soldier was more than my head 
could bear. Every afternoon, at about five o'clock, 
a body of German infantry marched past the hos- 
pital, singing the Wacht am Rhein in part-song, an 
unpleasant daily reminder of the conqueror's 
presence. 

In the room opposite there was a German officer 
who spent most of the day walking up and down 
the corridor whistling a hackneyed and out-of-date 
waltz tune. He always whistled the same tune, and 
it got on my nerves. The nurse told me that there 
was nothing the matter with him except an alleged 
pimple on his foot. This officer must have been a 
delicate specimen of German militarism. He was 
known in the hospital as "Parapluie," owing to the 
fact that when setting out one evening to dine in 
town he borrowed an umbrella to protect his uni- 
form from the rain. 

A regular plague of flies was one of the minor 
discomforts which had to be endured during the 
day. Mile. Debu stuck a piece of fly-paper to the 



98 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

gas chandelier which hung in the middle of the 
room, but only a few dozen flies fell victims to 
greed and curiosity, and the others seemed to take 
warning from the sad example. At meal-times 
there were always crowds of these uninvited guests, 
who, from the contempt with which they treated 
me, were evidently quite aware that I was unable 
to drive them away. One fly, rather bigger than the 
others (Alphonse I called him), was very persistent 
in his endeavours to land on my nose. When tired 
of this game he would leave me for a while and 
circle round and round the fly-paper, always about 
to land, and yet always suspicious of danger. The 
career of Alphonse was cut short by a method of 
attack which is probably considered by the insect 
kingdom as contrary to the rules of civilised war- 
fare. One afternoon Madame la Directrice brought 
up a box of powder which she said was guaranteed 
to destroy all the flies in the room in half an hour. 
The windows were shut, and the powder was 
sprinkled all over the room and all over my bed. 
In about ten minutes it was impossible to breathe. 
The powder got into my eyes and lungs, and I had 
to ring and ask for the windows to be opened. 
But the flies had succumbed, and poor Alphonse was 
swept up off the floor next morning along with at 
least a hundred of his companions. 

I gathered a great deal of information about 



DOCTEUR DEBU, CHIRURGIEN-EN-CHEF, HOPITAL CIVIL, CAMBRAT 



CAMBRx\I 99 

what was going on in the hospital from watching 
the glazed window in the door. 

One morning I said to Mile. Debu when she 
brought in breakfast, "\Mio was it died in the ward 
last night?" 

The nurses always tried to hide from me the 
large number of deaths that took place in the early- 
days, but I knew all about it from studying the 
glazed window through which the outlines of 
passers-by could faintly be distinguished. One man 
followed at a short distance by another meant a 
stretcher was being carried past. It is not hard to 
guess what is the burden of stretchers which are 
carried out of the ward when the dawn is just 
breaking. At this hour the hospital is at its quietest. 
But in the garden the sparrows twitter and chirrup 
that it will soon be time to get up. An early and 
hungry blackbird will sometimes whistle one or two 
impatient notes to hasten the coming of day. When 
the new daylight enters my room with its fresh, 
clean morning air, the first picture shown on the 
glass door is that of two men marching, with an 
interval between. They wear slippers and make no 
noise. And many months after the name of the 
burden they carry on the stretcher will appear on 
the Roll of Honour — "Previously reported missing 
— now reported died of wounds as a prisoner of 
war." 

It is usually about eight o'clock that the surgeon's 



loo WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

visit takes place. First there is the rattle and jingle 
of bottles all along the corridor, which heralds the 
advance of the portable dressing-table. This table 
runs on rubber wheels, and is fitted with an ingeni- 
ous basin in which the surgeon can wash his hands 
under a tap which is turned on by pressing a lever 
with the foot. Sometimes, when the door of my 
room has been left ajar, I can see as they pass the 
surgeons in their white overalls followed by the 
nurses and orderlies. There are one or two very 
serious cases which have to be dressed by the sur- 
geons, but the visit is chiefly an inspection. Cases 
where the balance lies between amputation and death 
have to be submitted to the sure judgment of Dr. 
Debu. 

During the early days there was a long waiting 
list for the operating-room, as there was scarcely 
time even to deal with those who were in imme- 
diate danger of death. 

In the majority of the cases brought in the 
wounds had not been dressed for several days. 
Men had remained three or four days at the place 
where they had been struck down. Others were 
put into farmhouses with broken legs or arms, and 
left unattended for a fortnight. Others again — 
and they were very numerous — had been brought 
into Cambrai by the Germans and deposited in some 
temporary ambulance-shed, and left with scarcely 
any medical attention, their wounds dressed perhaps 



CAMBRAI loi 

once a week. When such poor sufferers as these 
arrived at last at the hospital, it was as a rule too 
late for anything but amputation, and often too 
late even for that. 

One evening, about the loth of September, a 
German officer arrived at the hospital with an order 
that all wounded Germans should be at once taken 
to the station. There was at this time, in one of the 
rooms adjoining mine, a German officer who had 
been shot in the bladder. Mile. Waxin had charge 
of the case, and, thanks to her careful nursing, there 
seemed to be some chance of his recovery. When 
the order came to move all Germans, Mile. Waxin 
protested that if this officer were moved he would 
die. But the Germans refused to listen to her, and 
took their officer off to the station. That same 
evening the poor fellow was taken back from the 
station, and died in the hospital within an hour of 
his return. Next day a large number of French and 
British wounded were taken away to Germany. 

The vacant beds were at once filled with cases 
brought in for operation from the various tem- 
porary hospitals. Among the new arrivals were 
several British officers, two of whom, Irvine in the 
King's Own and Halls in the Hampshire Regiment, 
were put in the room opposite mine. Halls had been 
shot through both ankles, but after a few days 
managed to hobble across the corridor to pay me a 
visit. A French officer, wounded in the knee, used 



I02 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

sometimes to come and see me, but I have forgotten 
his name. 

It was on a Sunday that the sad announcement 
was made that my two newly-found friends were 
to be taken away to Germany. Halls said it was 
such bad luck to be carried away just as the French 
were about to enter the town ! 

The French soldier-orderlies all left the hospital 
at the same time as Halls and Irvine, and the duty 
of looking after my room fell to an individual 
named Frangois. Cheerfulness was his only virtue; 
laziness and dirt were his principal and more 
obvious vices. Frangois was a young fellow of 
nineteen, formerly a bargee working on a neigh- 
bouring canal. Owing to an accident which 
happened about a year before war broke out, his leg 
had to be taken off, and he was afterwards kept on 
in the hospital to act as handyman. In spite of his 
wooden leg he was wonderfully active, and when 
aroused was capable of doing a lot of work. Fran- 
gois invariably wore a very large and very dirty cap, 
tilted right on to the back of his thick, black, curly 
hair. The cap and the fag-end of a cigarette stick- 
ing to his under lip were permanent fixtures. His 
breath smelt of garlic and sour wine. The only 
person in the hospital to whose orders he paid the 
least attention was Mile. Waxin, and it was only 
under her severe eye that Frangois made any use 
of broom or duster. 



CAMBRAI 103 

On fine afternoons during the last week of 
September I was taken out on to the Terrace on a 
stretcher. Irvine was also lifted out in a chair, and 
looked very thin and pale. Like most of us in the 
hospital, he had been wounded on the 26th August ; 
the wound was a very severe one, the bullet having 
actually hit the edge of his identity disc. Two other 
subalterns in the Manchester Regiment were both 
lying out on stretchers, and we had a talk with 
Captain Beresford of the Worcesters, who was 
already so far recovered from a bullet in the lung 
that he was able to walk. Several wounded French 
and British soldiers were also taken out to enjoy 
the sun. 

One of the Frenchmen I at once recognised to be 
a Cure. His figure was more suited to the soutane 
than to the uniform of a Pioupiou, and a very pro- 
nounced accent betrayed the fact that he belonged 
to the Auvergne country. His comrades were 
evidently in the way of teasing him about his accent, 
and a great discussion was going on (with much 
winking at me by the other soldiers). In what part 
of France was the best French spoken? M. le Cure 
addressed me as an impartial witness: "N'est pas, 
mon capitaine, nous autres dans le midi de la France 
nous parlous plus grrammaticalemaing que les 
habitans du Nord — nous avons un pen d'asscnt 
mais nous parlous grrammaticalemaing." My ver- 
dict being in M. le Cure's favour, he entered into 



I04 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

animated conversation, delighted, he said, to meet 
"cnfaing" some one who could explain to him a 
question in which he was much interested but of 
which he understood nothing: "Qu'est que ce que 
le 'homme-roulle' ?" It was time to go in, so we 
parted, and my inability to answer his question re- 
mained undiscovered. I never saw the Cure again, 
and was told he had been taken off to Germany. 

Among the lesser discomforts of the early days 
in the Civil Hospital was the ordeal of being 
washed, which I only went through twice in the first 
three weeks. The nurses could not think of washing 
patients, as they had not time to dress all the wounds 
that required urgent attention, and therefore the 
washing was done by Frangois, and it was a sort of 
job to which he was evidently quite unaccustomed. 

The impossibility of getting any sleep, the pain 
from lying in one position, and the irritation of 
repeated mustard plasters (which were brought up 
and applied by Frangois), soon became relatively 
unimportant in the presence of a new trouble. One 
evening something in my head began to throb. It 
felt like the steady regular beat of a pulse deep 
inside. When Mile. Waxin came to see me that 
night I told her about it. Of course, as all good 
nurses do, she said it was nothing, but she would 
speak to the surgeon. Next morning Dr. Debu, 
after examination, declared that an abscess had 
formed in the wound owing to the presence of a 



CAMBRAI 105 

bone splinter. This would necessitate a small 
operation. 

My first acquaintance with the movable dressing- 
table, which carried a fearsome collection of surgical 
weapons, took place at nine o'clock that evening. 
Mile. Waxin started the proceedings with a shaving- 
brush. After lathering the top of my head, she then 
shaved the hair off all around the wound, and I was 
ready for the surgeon's visit. When Dr. Debu came 
in, he said it would be better if I could manage to 
do without an anaesthetic. "How long are you 
going to be?" I asked. 

"Not more than a minute." 

The apprehension was worse than the reality. A 
quick movement of the lancet laid open the abscess 
and disclosed the jagged splintered edge of the 
skull. With a pair of pincers the surgeon broke off 
one or two pieces of bone about the size of a tooth, 
then jammed in a piece of lint soaked in iodine. 
The whole affair lasted two minutes. From now 
onwards my head had to be dressed every day, and 
ja piece of lint nearly a foot long was pushed in 
every morning to keep the wound open, and any 
splinters that could be found were snipped off with 
the pincers. 

Now that the pressure of work in the hospital was 
somewhat relieved, my two nurses would sometimes 
come and sit in my room, and I was cheered with a 
regular afternoon visit from some of the nurses 



io6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

from neighbouring hospitals. Mile. L'Etoile and 
her friends used to bring me books, boxes of the 
sweets known as "Betises de Cambrai," peaches, 
nectarines, grapes, and long, fat, juicy "poires 
Duchesse," the largest and sweetest pears I have 
ever tasted. Afternoon tea "avec le numero sept" 
was a cheerful and often noisy meal. It was such 
a relief to forget for a moment the presence of the 
Boche and to hear the sound of laughter. 

In addition to my friends who were regular 
visitors, we had occasional visits from curious but 
well-meaning strangers. Some people find it im- 
possible when visiting hospitals to get beyond the 
everlasting phrase, ''Where were you wounded?" 

The limit of conversational inanity was reached 
by one of these casual visitors, a stout blonde dame. 
Our conversation ran as follows : — 

"Bonjour, bonjour; vous etes un officier anglais, 
n'est-ce pas?" 

"Mais oui, Madame!" 

"Oil avez-vous ete blesse?" 

"A la tete. . . ." 

"Vous restez couche comme ga toute la journee?" 

"C'est que j'ai la jambc paralysee." 

"Et vous n'avez pas eu de blessure a la jambe?" 

"Rien du tout." 

"Alors vous etiez done paralyse avant la 
guerre ! ! !" 

"Ce qui prouve," as one of my nurses said, "que 



CAMBRAI 107 

toutes les betises de Cambrai ne sont pas dans les 
boites a bonbons." 

It was about this time that a visit was paid to the 
hospital by Mgr. I'Archeveque de Cambrai, who 
went round all the wards with kind words of conso- 
lation for each one. The Archbishop hesitated on 
the threshold of my room, and was about to pass 
on, fearing no doubt to disturb me, and perhaps 
foreseeing the probable difficulties of conversation. 

"Entrez done, Monseigneur," I said; "Veuillez 
prendre la peine de vous asseoir." 

The Archbishop was cjuite taken aback, and I 
could see Mile. Waxin behind was convulsed with 
inward mirth. She said to me afterwards, "Ou 
etes vous alle chercher de si grandes phrases?" 

His lordship came and sat by my bedside for a 
few moments. He is a man of great personality 
and charm, who gives an impression of strength 
and tact. 

After the Archbishop had gone, Mile. Waxin told 
me that the vacant bed in my room was to be 
occupied by a British officer. This turned out to be 
Wilkinson in the Manchester Regiment. The 
manner of his arrival next morning was somewhat 
peculiar. The door opened slowly, and a large, 
very tall man, dressed like a nigger minstrel in 
black-and-white striped pyjamas, and covered with 
bandages, hopped across the room on the left leg; 
with three vigorous hops he was sitting on the bed. 



io8 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

His right foot was bandaged, also one of his hands. 
Nothing could be seen of his face but a nose and 
one eye. 

"Thank goodness there is some one to talk to," 
was what the strange figure said. Then followed 
the necessary mutual explanations. 

The only method of movement possible to 
Wilkinson was hopping, at which he had become 
quite an expert. Shrapnel bullets had lodged 
themselves all over his body, fortunately avoiding 
vital spots. The worst of his wounds was a frac- 
tured jaw, which gave him a great deal of pain, and 
made chewing of food impossible. 

When Mile. W^axin came in to dress my wound, 
some of the other nurses sometimes came out of 
curiosity, as the working of the brain was quite 
visible. The pushing in of long pieces of lint and 
the removal of splinters, w^hich took place every 
morning, was quite painless, and only took a few 
minutes. But it usually took the two nurses half 
an hour to dress the various wounds of the new 
arrival, and on the first morning Dr. Debu extracted 
a bullet from just under the skin below the small 
of the patient's back. 

Shortly after Wilkinson's arrival a most tragic 
event took place in the adjoining ward. 

In some mysterious manner tlie electric bells 
ceased to ring every evening about nine o'clock. 
This was a very serious matter, especially as the 



CAMBRAI 109 

night nurse that particular week — Mme. Z — was 
very slack about her duties, and never went round 
the hospital during the night to see if all was well. 
The disturbance started about eleven o'clock, with 
a dull thud as of a body falling, followed by shout- 
ing and rattling of the iron tables on the floor of 
the ward. The noise, heard through closed doors, 
was sufficient to wake Wilkinson. The shouting 
ceased for a moment, only to start afresh with new 
vigour. Wilkinson took two hops across the room 
and opened the door; the tables still rattled, and 
the calls for help continued. A French soldier, 
with one arm in a sling, clothed in nothing but a 
nightshirt, came walking gingerly down the corridor 
in his bare feet. When he saw our door open, he 
came in to tell us all about it. A soldier who was 
badly wounded in the head had suddenly become 
delirious, torn off his bandages, and fallen out of 
bed. There was no one in the ward able to help 
the poor fellow, who lay moaning on the floor in a 
state too awful for description. The bells did not 
ring, and there was nothing to be done except shout. 
The French soldier went along the corridor to the 
head of the staircase to call for the night watcher. 
After quite a long time some one downstairs woke 
up to the fact that there was something wrong. The 
night nurse appeared, followed by the night porter. 
They lifted the dying man on to the bed, bandaged 
up his poor head, and gave him a strong injection 



no WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

of morphia. One of the French soldiers told me 
some time after that the poor fellow died quite 
noiselessly in the middle of the night, hut I knew 
early that morning when a stretcher passed the glass 
door that the tragedy was over. 

Mile. Waxin used often to tell me about the 
different cases under her charge. 

I was never able to get the name of one of her 
favourites whom she called her ''petit anglais." 
This was a young Irish boy badly shot in the 
stomach. Dr. Debu told me that he might live for 
several months, but that there was no hope of 
recovery. The dressing of his wounds was nearly 
always done by IMlle. Waxin, under whose gentle 
hand he never complained of the awful agony from 
which morphia was the only relief. Although the 
ward in which he lay was on the ground floor, we 
could sometimes hear the screams of agony upstairs, 
screams which no one but Mile. Waxin could 
silence. "C'est mon petit anglais qui m'appelle," 
she used to say. 

It is remarkable that no matter how badly a 
soldier is wounded, even when he can neither eat 
nor drink, he will be soothed by a cigarette. The 
Frenchman above mentioned, unable to eat, unable 
to speak, and scarcely conscious, his brain bleeding 
from a great hole in the skull, was yet able the 
day before he died to smoke a cigarette. "Le petit 
anglais," who was never free from pain, found his 



CAMBRAI III 

greatest joy in the few cigarettes that Mile, Waxin, 
in spite of the shortage of tobacco, brought to his 
bedside every morning. It was very hard to get 
any tobacco in Cambrai until late in October, when 
the Germans allowed it to be imported from 
Belgium. 

One of the nurses who was able to speak English 
used sometimes to come and see me, and one day she 
brought me the following note from a soldier in my 
own regiment who was in one of the wards down- 
stairs : — 

No. 0000, Pte. N. N., 
B Co., 
1st Highlanders. 

Dear Sir^ — I was sorry to hear that you had 
been one of the unlucky ones, along with myself, 
to be put aside and away from the regiment. I hope 
that you will pull through all right. I am getting 
on, but it is my legs that are all the hinder. It was 
a very bad place I was wounded in the stoumick. 
Now, dear sir, I hope that you won't think me 
forward in asking you for a favour. If you would 
let me have the advance of 2s. so that I could get 
some tobacco, as I have lost everything. N. N. 

This man recovered, and was exchanged many 
months afterwards. 

Another young Irishman, who was a great 
favourite, had been badly wounded in the foot. 



112 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

It was found necessary to take the foot off, and 
after the operation, when Mile. Waxin went to 
console him, she found him lying with his face to 
the wall, silently weeping. 

"I was going to scold him for being such a baby," 
she said to me afterwards, "but when the English- 
speaking sister explained to me the reason of the 
tears, I felt like crying myself." 

"It is not the pain, sister, that troubles me," he 
said to them, "but you see with a wooden leg I can 
never go back again to the old regiment." 

On 9th Oct. we had a very strict inspection of 
the hospital, and a great number of the remaining 
British wounded were put down on the list of 
"transportables." The French nurses always sent 
off the British wounded dressed in French uniform, 
as it was a fact notorious at Cambrai that the 
Germans robbed British wounded of their uniform. 
In many cases German soldiers took greatcoats 
away from wounded men and gave a five-mark 
piece in exchange. The ill-treatment which was 
specially shown to British soldiers on the journey 
to Germany was the principal reason why the 
French, whenever they could get a chance, dis- 
guised our wounded soldiers in French uniforms. 
The fact that, in the early days of the war, British 
prisoners were invariably treated worse than the 
French cannot be denied, and will be amply proved 
from the evidence of returned prisoners, and from 



CAMBRAI 113 

other sources of information at present unavailable. 
It is the truth that nearly all British soldiers taken 
prisoners and sent to Germany during the first 
months of the war were made the object of special 
contempt, neglect, or cruelty. Such conduct un- 
doubtedly constitutes a departure "from laws of 
humanity, and from the dictates of the public con- 
science," which are supposed to govern the conduct 
of civilised nations.^ To illtreat or insult a wounded 
and helpless enemy is the most despicable offence a 
soldier can commit. Men who do these things dis- 
honour the name of soldier. 

The meaning of war without chivalry was first 
brought home to the inhabitants of Cambrai when 
they saw the way the victorious Germans treated 
the unfortunate wounded who had been brought 
into the town from the neighbouring battlefields. 
During the first week of September hundreds of 
wounded, French and English, were sent to Ger- 
many packed in cattle trucks, with no medical 
attendance, no food, no water. It was only natural 
that in our hospital both nurses and patients should 
dread the days when German officials came round 
searching for cases that could be considered "trans- 
portable." The inspections which took place on the 
9th and I ith of October were carried out with great 
severity. My companion Wilkinson was taken 

* See Convention concerning the Laws and Customs of War 
on Land : The Hague, 1907, p. 47. 



114 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

away, and many were put down on the list who were 
quite unfit to travel. 

Great consternation was created in the hospital 
on the evening of the nth, when an order arrived 
that the whole male staff of the hospital was to 
report forthwith at the Kommandantur. This was 
the end of the Civil Hospital as a French hospital. 
The doctors (except Debu), orderlies, and assistants 
were marched off to the Kommandantur at seven 
o'clock that evening, and spent the whole night 
in a cold unfurnished room without food or drink. 
Next morning the whole party, with two exceptions, 
were told that they were prisoners, and had to leave 
at once for Germany. The two exceptions were 
one of the surgeons, who was able to make up a 
plausible story, and Frangois, whose wooden leg 
saved him from a German prison. Next morning 
the hospital was taken over by the Germans, and 
French orderlies were replaced by German soldiers. 

The operating-room was shared between the 
French and German surgeons. Dr. Debu operated 
in the morning on the French and British, and in 
the afternoon the room was occupied by German 
surgeons, the chief of whom was Professor Fessler, 
a celebrated authority on gunshot wounds. The 
French nurses at Cambrai told me that they found 
the German surgeons were, as a rule, quite in- 
different and careless in causing pain to the 



CAMBRAI 115 

wounded, of which fact the following incident from 
my note-book is an example. 

"Oct. i6th. — Dreadful screams from downstairs, 
lasting two or three minutes. Mile. Waxin tells me 
it is only the German surgeon starting to operate 
before the ether had taken effect." 

An exception must be made of Professor Fessler, 
who was always most humane in the operating- 
room. Professor Fessler once said to Mile. Waxin, 
"If the men who are responsible for war could be 
made to realise the horror of the operating-room, 
war would always be avoided." A dying French- 
man was brought in one afternoon in the hope 
that instant operation might save his life. Professor 
Fessler performed the operation at once, working 
with the utmost care, as Mile. Waxin told me, to 
avoid giving the poor sufferer unnecessary agony. 

The numbers of German patients in the hospital 
increased day by day, which we took as a hopeful 
indication that the Germans were not having things 
all their own way. We had several German officers 
about this time, and I used to hear about them from 
Mile. Waxin. One of them, who was very seri- 
ously wounded, insisted upon being dressed by the 
French nurse, and would not allow the Schwester 
to touch him. The officer in the room next mine 
was dying of chest wounds complicated by pneu- 
monia. During the night, through the thin parti- 
tion, I could follow every sound of his death agony 



ii6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

— the groaning, whistling laboured breathing, the 
whispering of nurses, the low steady tones of 
prayer, and then silence. 

A very different death scene took place in the 
hospital a few days later. A German officer was 
brought in badly shot in the stomach. After his 
operation he was told that food or drink during 
the first twenty- four hours would be fatal. He 
ordered his servant to fetch him a bottle of cham- 
pagne, drank half of it down and died within five 
minutes. A bestial and truly Hunnish death. 

Now that the Germans had installed themselves 
in the hospital, there was an end to the pleasant 
afternoons on the sunny terrace. I was no longer 
lifted out of bed to sit in a chair, nor was I able 
even to sit up in bed lest some German should see 
me and mark my name down as "transportable." 
The hospital gate was now guarded by a sentry, and 
no visitors could enter without a written permit 
from the German authorities, who imposed their 
authority throughout the whole hospital, without 
meeting any effective resistance until they encount- 
ered Mile. Waxin. German authority said that a 
German Schwester would, in future, assist the 
French nurse in the operating-room. Mile. Waxin 
declaring that she would allow no one to interfere 
with her work, locked the room up and put the keys 
in her pocket. German authority, after threatening 
imprisonment, exile, and other dreadful punish- 



CAMBRAI 117 

merits, had to climb down. It would have been 
easy to take the keys or to force the door, but the 
services of Mile. Waxin were indispensable, and it 
was obviously impossible to compel her to work 
against her will. So the German Schwester was 
dismissed. The morning after this matter had been 
settled another storm arose, when Mile. Waxin's 
father came to pay his daily visit and w^as stopped 
by the sentry. The determined young girl went to 
the German Head Surgeon and declared that she 
refused to work in the hospital unless her father 
was allowed to visit her at any time of the day or 
night without hindrance. 

After the first few days the friction between the 
French and German hospital staff began to grow 
less. The German nurses, although good at sweep- 
ing and cleaning, had little or no training at Red 
Cross work, and were very glad to leave the dress- 
ing of complicated injuries to Mile. Waxin or Mile. 
Debu. The night orderlies were stolid, silent, very 
willing and obliging. The German surgeons from 
all accounts behaved with tact and courtesy. 

This comparatively peaceful state of affairs was 
upset by the visit of an extremely ugly, very cross 
and disagreeable individual, with a grey ragged 
beard, whom we christened "le pere grigou." His 
chief business at Cambrai was to compile lists of 
"transportables." Grigou, a personage of high rank, 
was the senior medical officer at Cambrai. To our 



ii8 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

great horror he made the Hopital Civil his head- 
quarters, and on the day of arrival paid a surprise 
visit to my room. But not quite a surprise visit, for 
Mile. Waxin had wind of his coming and had made 
all preparations. She bound an extra bandage 
round my head, took my pillow away, and drew the 
window curtains. When Grigou arrived I was 
lying fiat on my back in semi-darkness, breathing 
heavily. My eyes, bloodshot from ten minutes' hard 
rubbing, looked vacantly up at the ceiling. As 
Grigou bent over the bed I heaved a long tremulous 
sigh. Grigou consulted with his colleague, and the 
verdict was that it was doubtful if I would live till 
next morning! My name was of course put down 
on the list of *'non-transportable." If Grigou, who 
visited our floor every day, had seen me, or any 
German had reported that I had been seen sitting up 
in bed, our harmless trick would have resulted in my 
immediate departure for Germany, and my nurses 
would have got into serious trouble, so I had to 
live up to my supposed dying condition. Grigou 
did not remain with us more than a few days, but 
even when he had left the nurses did not dare to 
take me out on a stretcher or even to put me into a 
chair. 

At this time the other bed in my room was 
occupied by a soldier of the Middlesex Regiment. 
His case was an example of the terrible results 
which came from delay in attending to shell wounds. 



CAMBRAI 119 

After lying out two days he was taken to Cambrai, 
and remained for more than a week in a German 
ambulance with little or no attention. A German 
surgeon opened his leg without using an anaesthetic. 
Perhaps there was none to be had. As a result of 
this the poor fellow's ner\'e was completely shat- 
tered. When he came under Dr. Debu's care it was 
hoped that his leg might be saved, and a further 
opening was made just below the knee. The dressing 
of this man's wounds was a sight not easily for- 
gotten. "When the nurses entered the room with the 
dressing table he begged them to leave him to die. 
While the bandage was being unrolled he sat with 
chattering teeth, his face twitching with nervous 
apprehension; the leg was dreadful to look at, the 
flesh just above and below the knee lay folded back, 
raw and discoloured, with rubber tubing protruding 
from both sides of the calf. It was a hopeless case, 
and the attempt to save his leg had to be given up. 
After the amputation he suffered far less pain, but 
never recovered his self-control. On 20th October 
he was taken away to Madame Brunet's Conva- 
lescent Hospital, reserved for amputated cases, 
where he died just before Christmas. 

It had been decided by the German authorities 
that beds in the Hopital Civil were to be reserved 
solely for cases requiring operation. Dr. Debu 
therefore found that it was no longer possible for 



I20 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

me to stay, and arranged for my being sent to 
another hospital. 

On the 2 1st October I was taken away from my 
kind friends, and for the first time carried by Ger- 
mans on a German stretcher. Outside the hospital 
a motor ambulance was waiting. The night was 
dark, wet, and very cold. My leg was soon numbed 
with cold, as the ambulance did not start for nearly 
a quarter of an hour. Through the open end I 
could see a flickering street lamp which threw 
glinting reflections on the wet cobble-stones. 

A martial step, with the clink of spurs, woke 
echoes down the silent street; a German officer 
passed, came into view for an instant under the 
lamp, then clanked away into darkness. 

The ambulance driver and another soldier, who 
had been conversing together in low tones, stood 
rigidly to attention until the sound of the officer's 
steps had died away in the distance. Then the 
French soldier for whom we were waiting was 
carried down and placed in the ambulance beside 
me, the door was closed, shutting out the cold air 
and the dripping street. "Eh bien, mon lieutenant," 
said a voice from the stretcher, "nous voila partis! 
My father was taken prisoner in 1870, and voila, I 
am now also a prisoner, but that is nothing — on 
les aura, cette fois ci, on les aura ces sales tetes 
d'alboches !" 



CHAPTER IV 

LE NUMERO Io6 

The school building, hurriedly transformed on the 
outbreak of war into a hospital, forms three sides 
of a quadrangle, the fourth side of which is blocked 
by a high wall, so that in the courtyard tlius formed 
the sun can never shine. 

This was the hospital of the French Red Cross — 
I'Hopital Auxiliaire du Territoire, No. io6, Union 
des femmes de France. The accommodation for 
patients is limited to five rooms, all of which look 
on to the dismal courtyard. "Salle un," to which 
I was taken on arrival, the only room at all resem- 
bling a hospital ward, is a long lofty room running 
the whole length of one side of the quadrangle. 

Along each side of the room beds of various sorts 
and sizes were ranged several yards apart. ]\Iine 
was a large and brand-new double bedstead with 
large ornamental brass knobs. The sheets were of 
the finest Cambrai linen. Under several layers of 
blankets, and surrounded on all sides by hot bricks 
wrapped in flannel, I soon began to recover from 
the effects of my journey in the ambulance. 

I2J 



122 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

The first thing that struck me about my new 
quarters was the number of nurses and orderhes, 
most of whom were local volunteers whose experi- 
ence of hospitals dated from the German invasion. 
They were relieved from night work by a number 
of extra volunteers attached to the hospital, who 
each took one night a week. 

It was now past eight o'clock, the nurses had all 
left, and the night staff — three youths from the city 
— had taken off their bowler hats, retaining their 
coats and mufflers, and sat themselves at a table near 
the door. At the far end of the ward a tall young 
German soldier sat working silently at his table far 
into the night. He belonged to the motor transport, 
and was suffering from earache — so much I had 
gathered from the nurses. I speculated that perhaps 
he was working to pass examinations for a com- 
mission; the little lamp burning late, the absorbed 
attitude of the student, seemed incongruous in such 
surroundings. In the bed opposite mine lay a badly- 
wounded German officer, shaded by a screen from 
the lamp round which the night-watchers sat read- 
in<r. These were the onlv two Germans in the hos- 
pital. Presently the studious German put aside his 
books, retired to bed, and the ward was silent. The 
services of the orderlies did not seem to be required, 
— one sat for a while aimlessly turning over the 
leaves of an illustrated paper, then rested his head 
awhile upon the table, and was at once asleep. From 



LE NUMERO io6 123 

the bed opposite there came a gentle tinkHng sound. 
One of the watchers, a young lad, still a schoolboy, 
crossed the ward on tiptoe and bent over the 
wounded man, whose whisper was too feeble to 
reach my listening ear. The light was turned on, 
the sleeper resting on the illustrated paper awoke, 
left the ward, and returned after a few minutes 
with the night nurse. Now that the screen was 
moved I could see that the face in the bed opposite 
was that of a young man, perhaps not more than 
nineteen; it was the face of a gentleman and a 
soldier, but drawn, pinched, more yellow than 
reality in the gaslight, gasping with pain, gasping 
for morphia. When at last the merciful injection 
had been given, "Merci, merci," said a strengthened 
voice; "merci, vous ctes tons si bons pour moi." 
The screen replaced, the gas turned low, the watch- 
ers returned to their table, and all was quiet again 
till dawn. 

Next morning just before ten o'clock the ward 
was visited by two surgeons, one a German, the 
other my friend from the llopital Civil, Dr. Debu. 
By the dull light of a wet October morning they 
examined the wounded German officer. From Dr. 
D.'s face I knew the case was hopeless. Still, an 
operation might save life, if not the leg. When the 
stretcher-bearers came to carry the young officer 
away he thanked the nurses for their kindness, 
speaking perfect French with pathetic accents of 



124 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

real gratitude. He asked that the chocolates, 
cigarettes, &c., on his table should be distributed 
among the French soldiers in the ward, and again 
expressed his thanks, and asked pardon for the 
trouble he had caused. The operation was unsuc- 
cessful. He was taken, such are the coincidences 
of life and death, to the same bed as I had occupied 
at the Civil Hospital — numero sept — where a few 
days afterwards he died, but not before his mother, 
in mourning already for two sons, had been called 
from Germany to his bedside. 

No special accommodation was provided for 
officers at the io6 Hospital. There was a French 
officer in Salle 5, on the ground floor, and it was 
arranged that I was to be taken downstairs to his 
ward. 

The worst ward in the hospital was undoubtedly 
No. 5. The room had formerly been a classroom 
for junior pupils. Poor little children! how miser- 
able their lessons must have been in that damp 
sunless schoolroom. On the courtyard side, facing 
north, the light is obscured by a large wide veran- 
dah ; on the south side the ground of another small 
courtyard is five or six feet higher than the level of 
the room. 

Of the Salle cinq I have many pleasant memories, 
but my first impression of it — a picture which I 
cannot forget — was sadly depressing. The room is 
a small one, not more than 36 by 20 feet. One had 



LE NUMERO io6 125 

the impression of entering a basement, almost a 
cellar. The windows were all shut. Judging from 
the heavy fetid atmosphere, they had not been 
opened since the declaration of war. 

Except for a small open area in the centre, the 
whole floor-space was filled with beds, which were 
ranged all round the room, each one close up against 
the other. In the corner next the door one bed, 
standing by itself, was occupied by the French 
officer, X., a reserve Captain of the Colonial 
Infantry. My bed was also a corner one. On one 
side stood a cupboard in which bandages, morphia, 
and other necessaries were kept. 

Salle 5 was not only the worst ward, but it also 
contained the worst cases. This was probably 
owing to the fact that the nurse in charge, Mme. 
Buquet, was the most efficient nurse in the hospital. 
The number of beds was thirteen. No. i, known as 
"le Picard," was a cheery, jovial, hardy little fellow, 
who had lost a leg. No. 2, Sergt. Blanchard, 
suffered from a badly suppurating wound in the 
thigh, and was taken away for an operation to the 
Civil Hospital, where he died a few days after. No. 
3, Chasseur Alpin, shot through the chest about an 
inch above the heart. A very serious case. No. 6, 
left ann amputated, right leg and foot shattered. 
Nos. 8 and 9, very bad gangrenous leg wounds. 
Both died shortly afterwards. 

Under the circumstances it was perhaps only 



126 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

natural that on my arrival into the Salle cinq I was 
rather depressed. Most of the poor fellows in the 
ward were in continuous pain, but the only one who 
made audible complaint was No. 6. This man was 
a Charentais from Cognac. His wounds, although 
very terrible, were yet not so bad or so painful as 
those of many others who suffered in silence. No. 
6 never ceased day or night, except when under the 
influence of morphia, from groaning and whining 
about his foot; he was known in the ward as "Oh 
mon pied!" On the afternoon of my arrival No. 
6 came near to death — nearer even than he did on 
the day when a German shell blew off his arm and 
destroyed most of his right leg. No. 6 was sitting 
propped up in bed, when suddenly his head fell back, 
his thin yellow face turned a pasty white, and he 
lay back apparently a corpse. Fortunately an 
orderly was in the room at the time, and help was 
immediately forthcoming. About a dozen nurses 
crowded round the bed. There was nothing to be 
done. The doctor was sent for, also the Cure. 
"The man was dying;" "he was dead." "No, he 
still breathed." Then some one made an intelligent 
suggestion. "Look inside the bed." The bed- 
clothes pulled down revealed a dreadful sight, which 
explained at once what had happened. The whole 
bed was soaked in blood. A blood-vessel had burst 
in the wound and the man was bleeding to death. 
The bleeding was easily stopped by the application 



LE NUMERO io6 127 

of a tourniquet, but it was doubtful if any man 
could live after the loss of so much blood. Doctor 
and Cure arrived together as No. 6 was beginning 
to come round. The tourniquet had l^een applied 
just in time. 

No windows were left open during the night. 
Cafe au lait came in next morning at 7.30, and 
was distributed by Pierre, the orderly, a most 
willing and really excellent fellow. During break- 
fast one window was opened about three inches. As 
soon as breakfast was over the window was closed, 
the breakfast things removed, and the nurse began 
to prepare for the morning's work. 

Mme. Buquet, head nurse of the ward, wife of a 
well-known French surgeon, was assisted by two 
volunteers from Cambrai, Mile. Marie and Mile. X. 
The dressing of wounds is quite a simple, straight- 
forward business when the wounds are clean, but 
it is a very different story when there is gangre- 
nous infection. No. i, "le Heard," whose bed was 
just opposite mine, gave no trouble ; his stump had 
nearly healed up and required very little attention. 
A deal of time was given to No. 3, the Chasseur 
Alpin ; the bullet wound had made a small hole just 
over the left nipple, and the dressing of it was most 
painful to watch, as the poor boy evidently suffered 
great agony, though he never cried out or com- 
plained. No. 6 provided what one might call "Ic piece 
de resistance." He began to howl before he was 



128 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

touched, and during the whole time his wounds were 
being dressed he continued either to shout or groan, 
or repeat his favourite exclamation, "Oh mon pied, 
mon pied!" Picard used to jeer at him for making 
so much fuss. "There is no one in the ward who 
makes such an infernal row as you do." No. 6 
replied that no one in the ward suffered so much 
pain. This statement met with vigorous opposition 
from all over the room; even No. 3, who could 
scarcely breathe, was roused for the first time to 
husky speech. "Some of us suffer in silence : you 
should do likewise." In the heated discussion which 
followed No. 6 forgot for a time all about his bad 
foot. Poor No. 6 was in a minority of one. He 
was told that, though we were all very sorry for 
him, we objected to the continual groaning and 
shouting, which could do no good, and only dis- 
turbed those who suffered far worse pain in silence. 
Nos. 8 and 9, the two beds nearest to mine, 
were the last to be dressed that morning. No. 9, 
whose bed was so close to mine that there was only 
just room between for the nurse to stand, was badly 
shot in the upper part of the thigh. The wound 
was in such a condition that there was no hope of 
recovery. A stream of dark-green gangrenous 
liquid poured out of the wound at the first washing. 
I covered up my head under the sheets and lit a 
cigarette, but even so could not escape from the 
sickening smell. 



LE NUMERO io6 129 

Owing to the serious condition of most of the 
wounded, the limited number of surgical instru- 
ments, and the cramped space in which the work 
had to be done, the dressing of wounds went on the 
whole morning, and was seldom finished before 
midday. During all this time the windows were 
kept shut, until just immediately before lunch, when 
one window was opened — not too wide, lest too 
much of the foul putrid atmosphere should escape 
and let in some of the clean air of a fresh autumn 
morning. 

After lunch, M. le Medecin Chef Famechon and 
Capt. Viguie came to pay us a visit. The Medecin 
Chef is a man between sixty and seventy years of 
age, tall, straight as an arrow, dignified, reserved, 
almost austere in manner, an fond the kindest and 
best of men, as I found out later on from personal 
experience. He was taken prisoner at Arras, and 
now remained a prisoner in this hospital. Thus do 
the Germans observe the Geneva Convention. 

The Medecin Chef and Captain Viguie shared a 
small room at the other side of the hospital. Viguie, 
who had formerly occupied my bed in Salle 5, used 
to come every morning to visit his old friends. 
The visits were always an occasion for the exchange 
of humour between Viguie and myself, in which 
combats Viguie, possessed of a Parisian quickness 
of repartee, always came off best. Perhaps it was 
the case as Mme. Buquet said, that I suffered from 



I30 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

"du retard dans la perception." We all used to 
tease Viguie, and I used to greet him in the morning 
as 'Vieux coco." "Dites done, Monsieur I'Ecossais," 
was the usual answer; ''nous n'avons pas garde les 
cochons ensemble." It has taken nearly a year and 
a half to find the correct answer to this pleasantry 
— an answer which I could send to my friend in his 
German prison, only that the Boche might refuse 
to pass it. "Non, mon ami, mais nous avons ete 
garde ensemble par les cochons!" 

My diary states that "on October 26th I got up 
in the evening and had dinner at the table. There is 
great excitement in the hospital on account of large 
bodies of German troops having passed through 
the town. This is supposed to be a retirement." 
This opinion was strengthened by the visit of a 
simple-minded citizen of Cambrai, who came in 
with the news that "Aletz had fallen." Stupid 
stories such as these were believed for a time by a 
great many people. "The smell in my ward is not 
so strong to-night. I have succeeded in getting a 
window kept open." 

"October 30th. M. Heloire, the Veterinary Sur- 
geon from Caudry, came to see me yesterday." 
Perhaps it was because he was not wearing the 
white overall that I did not recognise the tall, erect, 
grey-bearded man, who stood at the door of the 
Salle cinq and looked anxiously round the ward. 
Presently he came over to my bedside and stood 



LE NUMERO io6 131 

looking. Then he spoke some commonplace, but 
not until he mentioned Caudry did I realise who it 
was. Labouring under a racial disability, I strug- 
gled to express my gratitude, but M. Heloire put 
an end to my efforts. With tears rolling down his 
cheeks he embraced me tenderly and thanked the 
Bon Dieu that I was still alive. "They said at 
Caudry that you had died on the way to Germany, 
and so I came to ask the truth as soon as I could 
get a permit." We talked of many things, and M. 
Heloire refreshed my memory as to many incidents 
of my short stay at Caudry which I had forgotten. 
He told me among other things that when I was 
carried on a stretcher out of La Maison Camille 
Wanecq and put into the cart, the villagers standing 
by, who were not quite sure if my immediate desti- 
nation was to be the hospital or the churchyard, 
were overcome with astonishment at my exclaiming, 
as the stretcher was lifted on to the cart, "En route 
la marchandise !" "Every day," went on the old 
man, "for days after you had left, my little grand- 
daughter, who is only eight years old, begged to be 
taken to the place where grandpere had found the 
poor wounded officer. One Sunday afternoon, 
when it was fine, we went for a walk along the road 
that you must so well remember — the cart road from 
Caudry to Beaumont. When we reached the place, 
the ditch by the roadside, where, the morning after 
the battle, after much searching, I found you lying, 



132 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

my little girl, asking me to show her exactly where 
you had rested, picked from the spot some of the 
grass and a few common wild flowers to keep as 
a souvenir of grandpapa's wounded soldier." 

On that same evening, after M. Heloire had 
gone, I made another friend, M. Vampouille, a 
Belgian, the proprietor of a small pork-butcher's 
business. Rue de I'Arbre d'Or, Cambrai. M. Vam- 
pouille worked in the hospital during the day when 
his business would permit, took one night a week 
in the Salle cinq, and was to me a faithful and 
devoted friend, to whom I never can hope to express 
as I would my admiration and deepest gratitude. 
Vampouille himself would be much astonished to 
hear me express such sentiments, for the kindness 
which always took thought and trouble, the tact 
and common-sense which made his companionship 
so agreeable, are natural virtues of which he is 
wholly unconscious. 

At the io6 we had no restrictions as to visits; 
at all hours of the day numbers of people used to 
visit the wards, many came out of curiosity, and 
such visits were for me at any rate a penance, 
chiefly owing to the prevailing mania for shaking 
hands. At times whole families, dressed all in deep 
mourning, would drift into the room and stand 
awkwardly grouped at the foot of my bed. "Allons 
ma petite Frangoise, va dire bonjour a ce brave 
soldat," and the whole tribe would come, one after 



LE NUMERO io6 133 

the other, to perform the ceremony of "le shake- 
hand." After this function followed the inevitable 
question, ''Where were you wounded ?" 

My method of dealing with this question always 
amused Mme. Buquet. 

"Oil avez-vous ete blesse?" 

"A Caudry." 

"Oui! mais a quel endroit avez-vous ete blesse?" 

"A I'entree du village!" 

"Oui, mais dans quelle parti avez-vous ete 
blesse?" 

"In the head, that is why I wear these bandages." 

"Go, Frangoise, say au revoir to the poor wounded 
soldier." 

The function of le shake-hand having been re- 
enacted by each member of the family, they passed 
on to the next bed. 

I had many friends whose welcome visits helped 
to break the monotony of hospital life. Mile. 
Waxin and Mile. Debu used sometimes to come 
and talk to their old "Numero Sept," and tell me 
all the latest news. From them I first heard of poor 
Captain Lloyd, an English officer very seriously 
wounded, who occupied my old room in the Hopital 
Civil. I wrote a short note to Lloyd, expressing 
my sympathy, and next morning, when Dr. Debu 
made his daily visit to the ward, I asked him to 
take it back with him. 

There must be some special department of the 



1314 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

German Staff solely occupied with the task of 
thinking out new things to make verhotcn. It is 
incredible, but true, that the Germans had forbidden 
any intercommunication between wounded and 
dying soldiers in the different hospitals, and so my 
correspondence with Lloyd was carried on secretly 
through the kind offices of Madame Buquet. Owing 
to her knowledge of German, Mme. Buquet was 
able to obtain a permit to visit the Hopital Civil, 
and every day at 2 p.m.^ instead of taking her daily 
walk, she went to visit poor Lloyd, who was feeling 
rather lonely, and longed, as he said in one of his 
letters, to talk once more to a fellow-countryman. 

It was after dinner on All Saints' Day, November 
I, that I made my first attempt to walk without any 
one's help. I got outside the ward and along to a 
door which led into the courtyard. The night was 
clear and still, the wind cold and restless. I stood 
awhile on the wet gravel of the court, looking up 
once again at the clouds playing among stars by the 
light of a rising moon. 

"Vous n'etes pas fou," said a voice from the 
doorway. "We looked for you everywhere; you 
will catch your death of cold out there in the dark." 

"You cannot understand," I replied, ''how good 
it feels to stand once more on the soil of the earth 
and look up into the heavens." 

Two of the worst cases, Nos, 8 and 9, were taken 
away during the night to the Civil Hospital for a 



LE NUMERO io6 135 

fruitless operation. In the afternoon, it being La 
Fete des Mortes, Madame Buqtiet went to the mili- 
tary cemetery. Even the frozen soul of a German 
staff officer could not forbid the citizens of Cambrai 
to visit their dead. 

In the military cemetery of Cambrai, visited on 
this day by crowds of mourners, the French and 
British soldiers are buried together in a common 
tomb, under a single wooden cross. There are 
several such tomljs in the cemetery, and each to-day 
is covered with wreaths. A row of long black 
crosses, with name and regiment painted in white 
on each, marks the resting-place of the officers. The 
same order prevails in the German quarter of the 
churchyard. 

In all the surrounding countryside at Caudry, 
at Le Cateau, in village churchyards, in open fields 
by country roadsides, beside the plain wooden cross 
which marks the soldier's grave, some one to-day 
has laid a wreath and knelt in prayer. 

At this time large numbers of troops were con- 
stantly passing through the city, coming from the 
direction of St. Ouentin and leaving in that of 
Valenciennes, from which point they proceeded to 
reinforce actual or impending attacks on Arras and 
Ypres. According to the universal opinion of Cam- 
brai, the departure of the Germans from the city 
was to be expected at any moment. 

The sound of the cannpnade at Arras could be 



136 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

heard quite distinctly, and when the wind was 
favourable the boom of the big guns seemed nearer 
than ever. "They were coming nearer,'' said the 
citizens of Cambrai with mutual congratulations. 
The inevitable morning salutation now became, 
"Bonjour, bonjour; the guns sounded nearer last 
night and they will soon be here — listen! comme 
(;a roule." 

A gentle westerly wind carried to our ears the 
sound of the distant guns, like an echo of a distant 
thunderstorm. 

One evening, late in November, a still clear night, 
when the cannonade could be heard more distinctly 
than usual. Captain Viguie and I stood out in the 
yard for a long time listening. To the long loud 
rumble of the German cannon we could hear, after 
an interval, a faint and more distant answer — an 
answer that spoke, as it were, in another tongue. 
It was the French 75 ! 

It was obvious to those who did not yield to vain 
hopes that the German occupation of Cambrai was 
being organised on a permanent basis. Very few 
German soldiers remained billeted in the town. 
Numbers of them were constantly coming back on 
short leave from the front, and from them the story 
of the new trench war gradually became known to 
us all. 

The Military Governor of Cambrai occupied the 
Town Hall, now known as the Kommandantur. 



LE NUMERO io6 137 

The French prefet having fled the city on the 
approach of the enemy, a successor was appointed 
by the Kommandant, and the administration of 
the city proceeded under German supervision and 
according to the usual German methods. Edicts 
were published at regular intervals declaring some 
new thing to be verboten, and always under penalty 
of death. Such things as bicycles and sewing- 
machines were requisitioned and might not be 
retained under penalty of death. Any person at 
Cambrai or in the district found, after a certain 
date, in possession of pigeons of any kind would 
be condemned to death. 

The old Cathedral had belonged for years to the 
pigeons, who, suspecting no danger, fell an easy 
prey, and for several days afforded fine game to the 
German sportsmen. Mile. Marie, who passed the 
Cathedral every morning on her way to the hos- 
pital, told me that there were still a few survivors 
who, having learnt the lesson of their comrades' 
fate, circled high round the Cathedral tower or 
remained anxiously perched on some lofty gargoyle. 

Tiie "Cambrai" pigeons were presented to the 
Hopital 106 by the Secretary of the Kommandan- 
tur, and thus did not meet with the final indignity 
of being eaten by the enemy. 

A typical illustration of German morality is 
afforded by an edict which was published in Cam- 
brai towards th.e end of November. All able-bodied 



138 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Frenchmen were ordered to present themselves at 
the Kommandantur on a certain date, and were to 
be sent to Lille to dig trenches. Only a small num- 
ber of men presented themselves on the appointed 
day, and were offered the job of digging trenches 
at five francs per day. Those who refused would 
be sent to Germany. Not more than twenty or 
thirty men accepted the proffered wage, and the 
remainder were sent to a German prison. Owing to 
the failure of the citizens to respond in sufficient 
numbers to this demand, the town of Cambrai was 
fined a large sum of money. 

A declaration, printed in French and German, 
of which I have seen a copy, was posted all over 
Cambrai under the heading, "Who is responsible 
for this Terrible War — England."' Only the 
German mind could have produced such an extraor- 
dinary document, in which England is accused, 
among other crimes, of "having abandoned Belgium 
to her fate." Most of the French population of 
Cambrai were much entertained by the clumsy anti- 
British propaganda which emanated from the Kom- 
mandantur. 

Another large poster appeared in all parts of the 
town stating that the British had been convicted of 
using Dumdum bullets. A British rifle, with ammu- 
nition, was on show in a shop window in the market- 
place, and the German soldier in charge explained 
to those who stopped to look that the hollow thumb- 



LE NUMERO io6 139 

piece of the cut-ofif of the British rifle had been 
designed explicitly for the purpose of manufactur- 
ing dumdum bullets. By inserting the point of a 
bullet into the recess and giving the cartridge a 
rapid jerk, the pointed end broke, leaving a square 
ragged surface. 

In their dealings with the civilian population of 
Cambrai the Germans showed how they utterly 
failed to understand the French mind. 

Salle cinq vastly enjoyed the visit of a certain 
German officer who came ostensibly to inspect, but 
in reality for purposes of propaganda. The man's 
name is unknown to me. He was always referred 
to among ourselves as rimbccilc. He was so short 
of stature that the long Prussian cloak reached 
almost to the ground, and a more fatuous face I 
have seldom seen on any man. He spoke French 
fluently but ungrammatically, and with a pronounced 
German accent. "Ponjour, Matame; here we are 
all French, is it not? Your so beautiful Paris I so 
much admire." The "imbecile," having gone round 
the ward, stood at the bottom of my bed facing the 
centre of the room, and entered into amiable con- 
versation with Mme. Buquet and the other nurses. 

He held forth at some length on the amenities of 
Cambrai, and expressed delight that the fortunes 
"of this terrible war" had been the occasion of his 
meeting and learning to love still more the French 
people, whom he had always held in such esteem. 



I40 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

"It is not the French who are the real enemies of 
Germany. If we had not been forced to do so by 
the treacherous English, never would we have in- 
vaded the soil of France. Ah, those English, what 
barbarians, what uncultured savages, such different 
types from those I see around me here!" 

At this point Mme. Buquet, catching my wink 
from l>ehind the "imbecile's" back, nearly exploded 
with laughter, which she, however, managed to 
turn into a coughing fit, and the Salle cinq listened 
eagerly for more. 

We heard the whole pathetic story of how Ger- 
many had been goaded into the war. Paris now was 
safe. The German armies thirsted solely for Eng- 
lish blood. When England had been crushed, then 
France and Germany would fall into each other's 
arms and all would be forgiven and forgotten. 

The "imbecile" departed, satisfied that he had 
sown good seed. Mme. Buquet, with tears rolling 
down her cheeks, was too exhausted for laughter. 
The Salle cinq remained silent for a while, stunned 
by this wonderful exhibition of stupidity. 

Picard, the one-legged soldier, idiomatically ex- 
pressed the thought of the Salle. "Eh bien, il n'a 
pas peur celui la," which remark might be trans- 
lated : "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." 

The Inspecting Officer, who came round every 
two or three days, was General Oberarzt Schmidt. 
In addition to this more or less regular visit, there 



LE NUMERO io6 141 

was another doctor named Meyer, who was charged 
with making up Hsts of "transportables." Every 
one naturally wished to put off the evil hour of 
departure to Germany as long as possible, especially 
as hopes were still entertained by many that the 
French troops would drive the Germans out before 
Christmas. Meyer only paid one visit to the Salle 
cinq, on which occasion its inhabitants appeared 
all to be on the point of death ! 

The list of Salle cinq showed that there were ten 
French and one British. Meyer stopped at the foot 
of my bed and turned his cold cod-fish eyes at me. 
His finger reached for pencil and note-book. Mme. 
Buquet saved my name from going on his list by 
declaring that my paralysis was such that I could 
neither move nor speak. The cod-fish eyes looked 
hard at me: "Konnen Sie Deutsch verstehen?" I 
gazed at him with dropped jaw and vacant eyes, 
shaking my head very slightly. There were no 
"transportables" that day from the Salle cinq. 

Meyer was cordially detested by the whole hos- 
pital staff", by reason of the contemptuous insolence 
of his manner. His hatred of the English was 
fanatical. Mme. Buquet once asked him if there 
was any prospect of an exchange. "Of the French, 
yes," he replied; "of the English, never!" 

General Oberarzt Schmidt, a very different type, 
was a tall, big- framed, and full-bodied man, large 
in the belly, bulging at the neck, with a pinky-red 



142 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

face and a large square head, bald on top, fringed 
with short-cut grey-blond hair. He spoke no Eng- 
lish, and only a half-dozen words of French. It 
would be difficult to find an attractive feature in the 
face of General Oberarzt Schmidt. The large 
mouth which droops shapelessly to one side is deco- 
rated on the upper lip with a few clipped badly- 
grown blue-grey bristles. The eyes, small and 
shifting, are almost colourless. Whatever his true 
character may have been, to us at the io6 he was 
always courteous and well-behaved. He used to 
come to the Salle cinq every week, and often re- 
mained to talk to Mme. Buquet, who, owing to her 
fluent knowledge of German, was able to obtain 
from Dr. Schmidt a certain amount of latitude 
regarding the question of the "transportables." It 
was thanks to Mme. Buquet that the two French 
captains, whose wounds were completely healed, 
were able to remain at io6 for several weeks after 
they were fit to travel. 

At the Hopital Civil, the German weekly inspec- 
tion, when carried out by such men as Grigou, was 
a merciless visitation, and for those whose names 
went on the list there was no reprieve. But at the 
1 06 we suffered from no such unreasoning severity. 
Doctor Schmidt was often induced to postpone the 
departure of any soldier really unfit for the journey. 

" 'Tetanus' made the night hideous with groan- 
ing and moaning, so that no one could get any 



LE NUMERO io6 143 

sleep." This entry in my diary refers to a young 
Breton soldier who was isolated in a room opposite 
the Salle cinq. The word "room" gives a wholly 
wrong impression of the place where this unfortu- 
nate man had to be put. In one corner stood an old 
and useless bath, in another two broken bedsteads; 
the rough flooring was littered with rubbish. The 
walls had never been papered, the plaster still hung 
in patches, cracked and yellow with damp. A 
wooden partition half-way up to the ceiling divided 
the place off from the corridor, and thus the moans 
of the dying man could be heard distinctly in our 
room. There was no other accommodation in the 
hospital wherein a patient, such as this one, could be 
isolated. Tetanus was very common at Cambrai. 
We had eight cases at the Hopital Civil, six of 
which died. Very little treatment could be given, 
as there was no anti-tetanus serum to be had. The 
horror of tetanus is unique, for there is no disease 
so insidious, so sudden in its effects, and so terrible 
in its end. 

For three days the man lived in a semi-uncon- 
scious condition. The first evening we could hear 
him moaning, a low, steady, pitiful moan. About 
the middle of the night there was a sudden silence, 
then a crash, and a sound of struggling. M. Vam- 
pouille, who was on duty that night in our ward, 
rushed across the corridor and, by the light of a 
match, bent over the man's bed. It was empty! 



144 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

From the middle of the room came again the low 
moaning sound; the unfortunate man had struggled 
out of bed in a fit. The stitches of his leg, which 
was amputated above the knee, had burst, and he 
lay in a pool of blood, M. Vampouille's further 
description of the scene is too awful to dwell upon. 
From that evening of November 4 until the morn- 
ing of November 7, almost without a stop day and 
night, there came from that room the most mournful 
lamentation, loud, deep, and sonorous, though it 
came through teeth clenched in the rigor of the 
dreadful disease. Through locked jaws and mo- 
tionless lips came the sound that expressed the sole 
thought of his mind. There is no phrase or turn 
of writing that can express the pitiful, appealing, 
struggling effort of the dying soldier to articulate 
this dying call for his mother. For three days and 
three nights, first strong and loud, then weaker and 
weaker, his constant call was "Maman, Maman," 
expressed in this awful moaning. On the third day 
I went in to see him. A nurse was attempting to 
force some warm milk between his teeth, but with 
no success. It was better to let him die in peace. 
He did not look more than nineteen. Sweat ran 
in trickles down the pale face wrinkled in agony. 
His thick black hair fell low down over clammy 
forehead and temple. The blue-grey eyes stared 
fixed and sightless. The moaning was now low and 
weak, but one could hear that the call was still for 



LE NUMERO io6 145 

"Maman, Maman." Early next morning I woke 
while it was still dark, sat up in bed and listened. 
From somewhere in the hospital there came a swish- 
ing, gurgling sound very like the whistling noise 
of a turbine engine. Still half asleep, I sat wonder- 
ing what kind of engine it could be. When day 
dawned the swishing, whistling noise had ceased, 
and the suffering of the poor Breton boy was over. 
Mme. Buquet was very late in coming to the ward 
that morning. She told me that the last few minutes 
before the end were quite peaceful. M. le Vicaire- 
General administered the Last Sacraments, and 
Captain Viguie spoke in the dying man's ear the 
only earthly consolation that remained : "Mon 
garqon, tu meurs pour la France." 

In many respects life in the Salle cinq now began 
to be much easier. As a result of my insistent prop- 
aganda in favour of fresh air, I obtained some small 
concessions, and succeeded in obtaining a number 
of adherents to the policy of the open window. The 
worst cases in the ward had been taken away ; those 
that were left gradually got better, and even No. 6 
in the corner began to improve. In the afternoon I 
played bridge with the French captain and some 
other friends who used to pay me regular visits, or 
discussed the gossip and news of the town with 
Vampouille. First of all there was that most ex- 
cellent M. Herbin, a big, strong, hearty man, cer- 
tainly well past fifty, with honest brown eyes that 



146 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

looked you straight in the face, showing that his 
heart was in the right place, as the saying is. My 
friend was a man of few words. "Allons, mon 
pauvre vieiix, ga va bien hein! la sante?" "Tres 
bien, mon cher ami." "Tant mieux. Tant mieux." 
And the Boches? We used to talk of them. 

Cambrai was like a city stricken by the plague. 
Most of the shops had their shutters up. No one 
went abroad for pleasure, one stayed at home these 
days; and the ''place publique," with its German 
military band which played every day at 4 o'clock, 
the cafe where one used to take the evening "Per- 
nod" — such places were now the haunt of the Boche. 

M. Herbin owned a draper's shop, his specialty 
was ready-made clothes, and his business was prac- 
tically at an end. At the time there was very little 
cash in circulation at Cambrai. Notes for i, 2, and 
5 francs were issued by the Town and the Chamber 
of Commerce, with an inscription stating that "this 
note will be cashed by the Chamber of Commerce 
100 days after the signature of peace." The Ger- 
man usually paid for everything with "bons de 
requisition." These vouchers were guaranteed by 
the German Government only when stamped by the 
Kommandantur. 

During the first few weeks of the German occu- 
pation officers and men made a practice of entering 
shops, taking whatever suited their fancy, and then, 
by way of payment, offering the helpless tradesman 




GENERAL OBERARZT SCHMIDT, KONIGLICHE ERSTE BAYRISCHE 
RESERVE CORPS 



LE NUMERO io6 147 

a scrap of paper covered with unintelligible hiero- 
glyphics. These scraps of paper were absolutely 
worthless. It was the German idea of humour 
thus to rob the unfortunate tradesman by presenting 
him in return for his merchandise with a written 
statement certifying "the bearer of this is a silly 
fool." A still more Germanic humour found its 
expression in coarse vulgar filth. When the bewil- 
dered shopkeepers brought their promises to pay to 
the Kommandantur for verification they were 
greeted with jeering laughter. German humour 
finds its happiest element in all that concerns the 
lowest functions of the body, and doubtless the story 
of such vulgar jests at the expense of a helpless 
enemy were repeated with much gusto by the elegant 
fraus of the Fatherland. 

Among other visitors whom I was always glad to 
see were M. et Mme. Ray. The latter used to come 
to the Salle twice a week during the afternoons, so 
that Mme. Buquet could get off duty. Mme. Ray 
was an incorrigible optimist. Every movement of 
German troops, whether entering or leaving Cam- 
brai, she always referred to as a retirement. When- 
ever the wind changed and the sound of guns was 
more distinctly heard — the French were advancing. 
On Christmas day, she used to tell me, we will be 
*'in France." I rather think that these opinions 
were expressed for the purpose of cheering up the 
Salle cinq, for Mme. Ray was too sensible a woman 



148 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

in other matters to be in reality so lacking in judg- 
ment in this particular case. 

M. Vampouille came every afternoon, except 
when detained by his business, which at this time 
consisted chiefly in killing pigs to make sausages 
for the German soldiers — sausages which they had 
to pay for in hard cash, as Vampouille always 
refused to deal in vouchers. My kind friend never 
came to see me without a "surprise," a little parcel 
which he brought in his pocket — a slice of "pate," 
or ham, or "saucisson a I'aile," and many other 
tit-bits. 

During these days there was a great scarcity of 
decent tobacco, although there was plenty of what 
was called "Belgian tobacco." It is difficult to sug- 
gest what this stuff might have been. It was sold 
in large square parcels, covered with blue paper, 
labelled "Tabac Beige," and cost one franc for a 
very large-sized packet. Once a week a woman 
came into the hospital yard bearing on her back a 
large basketful of tobacco, cigars, and matches with 
which she had travelled on foot from Belgium. The 
cigars only cost three sous for two. I never made 
any attempt to smoke them, but once out of curiosity 
I dissected one and made a strange discovery. The 
outside leaf was cabbage, stained dark-brown; it 
came off quite easily and disclosed a second and a 
third cabbage leaf of a light yellow colour. Inside 
these three layers of cabbage leaf was a hard rolled 



LE NUMERO io6 149 

cylinder which, as it would not unroll, I cut into two 
pieces with a sharp knife. The cylinder was filled 
with small shavings and dust, whether from fag- 
ends of cigarettes or merely from street sweepings, 
it was impossible to tell. I have seen a soldier 
achieve the wonderful feat of smoking one of these 
cigars to its hot and bitter end. This was Picard, 
the one-legged man of Salle cinq — Picard, who 
smoked all day and most of the night, quite indiffer- 
ent as to the substance he put into his clay pipe as 
long as it would produce smoke. 

M. Vampouille succeeded where many other 
friends had failed. He found a supply of "English 
Tobacco." A patriotic marchande de tabac had 
buried the most valuable part of her stock in a back 
garden rather than let the Boches have the advan- 
tage. There were three four-ounce tins of Craven 
Mixture and three boxes of cigars "Bock." It was 
indeed a luxury to smoke real tobacco and real 
cigars. 

"First flakes of snow. Result, windows shut 
tight day and night. Next day a stove was put into 
the middle of the room, which is now so stuffy that 
one can hardly breathe even with the windows open. 
To-day, November 16, I began to walk with two 
sticks." 

My good friends, the two French officers, had at 
last to go, and it was a very sad day for us all. The 
list of transportables, a short one, included five or 



I50 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

six French soldiers. They made a very sad picture 
as they limped painfully out into the yard and were 
helped up to a seat in the ambulance, each one carry- 
ing on his back a large bundle containing socks, a 
shirt, and as much meat and bread as could be taken 
by a wounded man on such a journey. Mme. 
Buquet went down to the station with the two cap- 
tains. We were glad to hear that they were given 
good berths in a hospital train, and thus were able 
to make the long three days' journey in comparative 
comfort — a good fortune which in those days was 
invariably denied to British officers, even when very 
severely wounded. 

On 25th November I got away from the ward and 
the fruitless struggle for fresh air by taking Captain 
Viguie's bed in the tiny little room shared with le 
Medecin Chef. The room was long and narrow — 
perhaps 20 feet by 5, — with only just room for two 
beds, the washing-stand, and a small table where the 
doctor and I used to sit and play piquet — a game at 
which I had neither skill nor luck, for when our 
games came to an end the doctor had scored over 
5000 points to the good ! A welcome interruption 
to our card-playing was the visit of Mme. de Rud- 
nickna, a charming Polish lady who was nurse at the 
Hopital Notre Dame, v/here she for many months 
nursed two British officers — Major Johnson and 
Lieut. Foljambe, both very seriously wounded. She 
saved Lieut. Foljambe's life by careful nursing, 



LE NUMERO io6 151 

when the doctors had given up hope, and she did 
everything that could be done to make easier 
the slow decline of Major Johnson, who, mor- 
tally wounded in the spine, lived till the first day of 
1 91 5. Mme. de Rudnickna came two or three times 
a week with a delicious "Chausson au pommes," 
and sometimes a bottle of Vin d'Oporto to liven up 
the grey, dull winter afternoons. One day she 
brought me a copy of 'The Times' for November 
19th, the first English newspaper I had seen since 
August 1 2th. 

In a much-thumbed copy of the 'Figaro,' dated 
October 25th — a copy which, it was said, had been 
dropped from an aeroplane, and which we secretly 
circulated from ward to ward — we read the story 
of Ypres, vague reports of which we had heard 
from German soldiers, who were told by their 
chiefs, and firmly believed, that the objective now 
before them was first Calais and then London. 
We heard that, once Calais had fallen — and who 
could doubt that it would fall? — the famous big 
guns that had done such deeds at Liege and Ant- 
werp would batter down the defences of Dover and 
sweep a passage across the Channel for the Ger- 
man troop-ships. It was Bismarck, I think, who, 
looking over London from the top of St. Paul's, 
exclaimed regretfully, "Was fiir Pliinder!" On 
this "Pliinder" the mind of the German was now 
fixed ; and soldiers billeted in the town talked 



152 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

grandly of the punishment to be inflicted on Eng- 
land for having treacherously hatched a cowardly 
plot for the destruction of the German Empire. 

The bulletin of war news, posted up each morn- 
ing outside the Kommandantur, boasted each day 
of the capture of countless Russian and French 
prisoners. One day in November the Cathedral 
bells were rung to celebrate the victory of German 
arms in the East. All such official displays of 
cheerfulness could not hide from our observant 
notice that all was not well with the German armies. 
The glorious victories always took place at the 
other end of Europe. 

But nothing was published officially about the 
military situation on the Western front. German 
soldiers back from the trenches of Arras spoke 
bitterly of their failure to capture the French posi- 
tions. Rumour said that the German casualties 
between Arras and Ypres amounted to over 100,000 
killed. Arras was known to us as "Le Tombeau 
des Allemands." Reports from Valenciennes told 
of crowded hospitals, train-loads of wounded, and 
train-loads of dead. Somewhere behind the line of 
battle, not very far from Cambrai, there are large 
brick-fields. Here it was that a crematorium was 
built. A tale was told of trains that passed in the 
night, of open trucks in which men, limp and with 
nodding heads, stood upright, packed in close array. 
By the light of some dim country station lamp the 



LE NUMERO io6 153 

corpses in their blue-grey uniform had been seen 
and recognised, though hidden by blood and earth, 
fresh from the field on which they had fallen. Even 
for the Boches this was too horrible an end, to 
travel in such manner to the grave, strung together 
like bundles of asparagus. 

At times it would seem as if Martin Luther was 
right when he wrote in 1527 that the Germans are 
"a heathenish, nay utterly bestial, nation." But I 
do not hold with the judgment of this first apostle 
of frightfulness. The German nation consists of 
the High Command, with its hordes of obedient 
slave-drivers, and the rest of the nation, which in 
the inner chambers of the High Command is re- 
ferred to as the mob — die Menge. The High Com- 
mand is certainly heathenish, and may be looked 
upon as utterly bestial, in view of the fact that they 
have replaced the elementary principles of honour 
by some sort of jungle law of their own making. 

But there are still symptoms of humanity left in 
the mob, something of human sympathy and of the 
brotherhood of man, which even at Cambrai made 
itself felt on rare occasions. Such an occasion was 
a visit to the Salle cinq of Herr Arntz. It was at 
the time when I was confined to bed, as much by 
the fear of Germany as by the paralysis, and on one 
of the darkest days of November. Mme. Buquet 
sat by my bedside, as she often used to do of an 
afternoon when the day's work was over, and spoke 



154 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

of a German who had called at the hospital a few 
days before, asking for her by name. He had 
stood out in the corridor waiting for her to come, 
bare headed, closely cropped, in the uniform of a 
private soldier, and not until he spoke did she 
recognise a friend. They had not met for three 
years, and the place of their parting — the Black 
Forest in the spring-time. Herr Arntz, then a 
young student in chemistry on his holiday tour, had 
now passed his degree as Doctor der Chemie. In 
spite of weak eyesight and the wearing of blue 
spectacles, he had been called up shortly after the 
outbreak of war, and was doing railway duty at 
Cambrai. So much and more had Mme. Buquet 
told me of her friend on that afternoon when he 
came again to see her. 

It was cold, dark, and inhospitable in the cor- 
ridor, and she brought him into the Salle cinq, 
where the gas lamps, which had just been lit, gave 
the room a touch of homely comfort. Perhaps it 
was the Numero 6 who had called for morphia, or 
some other wounded man who required attention, 
so that Mme. Buquet left her friend sitting alone 
not very far from my bedside. I cherish no 
friendly feeling towards any Boche, yet there was 
something about this one which commanded my 
attention. This was not the manner of our usual 
German visitors — to sit there quietly and as if 
^.shamed. 



LE NUMERO io6 155 

I started conversation with a hybrid sentence in 
French and German, which encouraged Herr Arntz 
to draw up his chair closer to my bed. There was 
nothing remarkable in the subject of our conver- 
sation. His attitude towards the war was that of 
a fatalist towards an earthquake; he showed a real 
sympathy for my state of health and the effect of 
my wound, choosing strange and almost unintel- 
ligible phrases in his efforts to speak the French 
tongue. 

"Ah, mais *le cerf il n'est pas touche," then you 
will get well. That was good. And to me when I 
would speak of der Krieg, "let us forget it for a 
moment." How could this quiet gentleman and I, 
lying sick, be at war? Was it indeed wrong, as 
many said at the 106, thus to converse with a 
Boche? Should I have refused my hand at parting? 
My friend, so I must call him for his kindness, lies 
in an honourable grave somewhere along the long 
battle line. A year later, promoted from guarding 
railway stations, blue spectacles and all, he "fell at 
the head of his company." One of the mob — die 
Menge. 

St. Andrew's Day. — Captain Lloyd is very much 
worse. Mme. Buquet goes to see him every day 
at 2 P.M., carrying a note from me and a custard 
pudding made by Mme. Tondeur. There was never 
a more motherly soul than Mme. Tondeur. And 
there never was a cook so excellent and yet so good- 



156 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

tempered, so pestered with visitors in the kitchen, 
yet ahvays smiHng and with a kind word for each 
one. Wounded men able to hobble out of the Salle 
cinq, or down from the other wards upstairs, loved 
to sit in a corner of her kitchen and peel potatoes 
or wash dishes and listen to the day's gossip. What 
with nurses and orderlies, stray visitors from the 
town, soldiers on crutches, all congregating in the 
kitchen, which might have been the H.Q, of the 
hospital, it was indeed a wonder that Mme. Tondeur 
could produce such an excellent dinner. 

When M. Vampouille, of his own idea and 
specially to please me, cured a piece of bacon a 
I'anglaise, Mme. Tondeur and I put our heads 
together over the cooking of bacon and eggs. The 
simple barbarity of English cooking is always 
puzzling to French people. My dish, which started 
on the range as bacon and eggs, arrived on the table 
as an omelette au jambon. 

What a sordid thing is a boiled potato in com- 
parison with "des pommes frites" ! We had fried 
potatoes one day a week, on which occasion all 
available hands were turned on to the work of peel- 
ing and slicing, no unskilled labour, when wastage 
is not to be endured. For every ward there was a 
large dish piled high, golden, crisp, and scalding 
hot and appetising — good to take with one's fingers 
like fine pastry, very different from the soppy, 
flaccid, colourless British imitation. 




TAKEN AT l'hOPITAL NOTRE DAME, CAMBRAI, OCTOBER, I9I4 



L,E NUMERO io6 157 

Every morning Mme. Tondeur prepared the 
custard pudding in a small dish, which was then 
wrapped up in a napkin ready to be carried by 
Mme. Buquet to our poor friend at the Hopital 
Civil. "Ah, mon Lieutenant," she used to say, 
"what a joy it is to do something to help, even if 
so little. I also have a son in the trenches, and I 
pray le bon Dieu to send him back to me, even with 
a leg or an arm less I would not complain. Si 
seulement je le savais comme vous!" 

Here in England, far from the presence of war, 
it is impossible to realise the suffering of these 
unfortunate people in the North of France who 
have never been allowed to get news from the 
trenches, who will not know of the death of hus- 
band or son for months and years after. No corre- 
spondence is allowed even with neutral countries. 
Though the land under German occupation is a 
place of misery and desolation, it has one redeem- 
ing feature — there are no pseudo-conscientious 
objectors. German invasion and occupation of 
Britain would not be too high a price to pay for the 
extirpation of this national dry-rot. 

One who has lived long months among these 
despairing people writes to say how hard it is for 
those outside the German zone to realise the misery 
of invasion. "Old men and little children work in 
the fields with neither horses nor oxen nor ploughs. 
In many places German soldiers plough and sow, 



158 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

desecrating the soil of France. . . . And when in 
France I hear it said that the war is without end, 
that the strain is too great, I think of those who 
Hve in the invaded districts, those who are exiled 
from France under the enemy yoke and yet do not 
despair, but wait with patient confidence for the 
hour of deliverance; perhaps they have some right 
to say the strain is hard to bear." 

I do not envy the man, be he ploughman, starred 
tradesman, or merely possessed of a sickly con- 
science, who can apply for leave to stay at home, 
while old men and little children till the fields of 
Northern France without horses, oxen, or ploughs, 
under the hard rule of the Hun. 

We were a sad party on that St. Andrew's Day 
at the Hopital 106. Mme. Buquet came in the 
afternoon rather later than usual to the little room, 
where the old Colonel and I sat playing piquet, 
bringing sad news from the Civil Hospital. Poor 
Captain Lloyd was not expected to live more than 
a few hours. 

We sat silently while the twilight melted into 
darkness. When a friend is dying those that watch 
and busy themselves with small services can find 
therein some small consolation. But we, weighed 
down in mind, powerless to influence in any degree 
the inevitable order of fate, found the pattern of the 
universe a hard reading. 

To die is unimportant and common to all, the 



LE NUMERO io6 159 

only important thing is the manner of our leaviRg. 
Captain Lloyd, my friend whom I have never seen, 
showed how the spirit of a man can rise above the 
saddest catastrophe of war and throw a gleam of 
light on the apparently hopeless and senseless maze 
of human misery. 

Mme. Buquet used to come every afternoon 
straight back to my room after her visit to the 
Hopital Civil, and her report to me never varied. 
"He never speaks of himself, but asks insistently 
for news of you." His eyes lit up on hearing that 
I could walk with crutches. "Do tell him to be 
careful and not try too much;" and to-day, and on 
this sad St. Andrew's Day, his last words to Mme. 
Buquet showed the full measure of unselfish 
thoughtfulness : "Do not let him worry, do not let 
him know how weak I am." 

It was quite dark when M. Vampouille came in. 
He would not suffer the darkness even after hearing 
the sad story, but lit the gas and kept a cheery 
manner. "It is something to know," said he, "that 
there are 'de si braves gens de par ce monde.' " 

St. Andrew's Feast was not forgotten that even- 
ing. Monsieur Vampouille had brought me a 
scarce and much-valued delicacy which was pre- 
pared with special care by Mme. Tondeur and 
served up at dinner as a savoury. There was no 
escape from the six large healthy snails sitting in 
their shells enthroned on pieces of toast soaked in 



i6o WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

oil and vinegar mixed with chopped onions and 
garlic. 

From Mme. Buquet there was a flower-pot with 
some early primroses and a note, "To the Scotch 
Lieutenant on St. Andrew's Feast Day." 

These gracious incidents, as R. L. Stevenson 
remarked, are distinctive of the French people, and 
"make the ordinary moments of life ornamental." 

Also I had almost conquered my insular preju- 
dice against the eating of snails, which are really 
quite succulent when served with such a sauce. 



CHAPTER V 

STORIES FROM LE NUMERO Io6 

Behind one of the hospital wings there is a tiny 
garden walled in on all sides by high buildings. 
Here were some mouldy-looking pear-trees, a 
ragged gooseberry bush, and a patch of ragged 
cabbage-stalks. The ground was thickly covered 
with rotten leaves; in one corner empty broken 
rabbit-hutches, pieces of broken furniture, broken 
bottles, and miscellaneous debris gave an additional 
note of depression. Still it was a change from the 
dulness of the courtyard, and the garden, such as 
it was, became the object of my daily excursions. 
The gardener, now digging trenches in some distant 
part of France, might never dig here again, but his 
two little children played at soldiers every afternoon 
among the decayed leaves. A large shed at the 
end of the garden, which had at one time been used 
as a wash-house, now falling to ruin, still contained 
a rusty boiler and some broken wash-tubs. In one 
corner, piled one on top of the other, stood six or 
seven roughly-hewn coffins made out of old pack- 
ing-cases. 

i6i 



i62 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Le Picard was often a partner in these explo- 
rations round the dead garden, and together we 
visited the coffins. "Qa. voyez vous," said this one- 
legged philosopher, "qa. c'est le dernier costume." 

Entrance to the hospital through an archway 
under the building was barred by a massive wooden 
portail. One morning, when the bread-cart had left 
the gateway open, Picard and I took up our stand 
on the threshold and looked out into the street. The 
houses opposite the hospital are modern and unin- 
teresting, walls covered with dirty white plaster, 
shutters closed and in need of paint. Farther down 
on the right, as you stand at the hospital door, the 
street, as it nears the Place Publique, begins to 
curve, and here were old houses with their quaint 
roofs grouped picturesquely against the dull sky, 
where heavy clouds prepared to renew their steady 
downpour. 

The street was empty. Farther down there are 
shops, but they are closed. A German soldier came 
clattering along the pavement. Just as he reached 
the hospital we two standing at the door caught his 
eye and aroused his curiosity to such an extent that 
he stopped, stared for a moment, then walked back- 
wards for quite a long way and nearly bumped into 
an officer. A few sad-looking women, carrying 
baskets and bundles, stopped in the middle of the 
street and feasted their eyes on Picard. "It stirs 
the heart," said they, "to see the French uniform." 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 163 

These poor people made a collection of their scarce 
sous and presented Picard with one franc fifty. The 
children gathered in such numbers that I had to ask 
them to move on for fear of the Germans. 

After the children had gone, a little girl, perhaps 
ten or eleven years old, came shyly up to the door. 
Under a threadbare cloak, which in the cold wind 
and rain afforded small protection to her tired little 
body, she carried a bundle of picture post-cards. 
Her present errand was not concerned with asking 
for charity. She came quite near without speaking 
or looking up, and stretched out a thin grimy little 
hand to give me a two-sous piece. Having given 
me the two sous and rendered me speechless with 
mixed emotions, she turned to run, but Picard 
stopped her. "Wilt thou not show us the pretty 
post-cards, my little one?" "That I cannot do," 
came the resolute answer; "they are not mine to 
give away, and they cost two sous each to buy." 
But I, being obviously the possessor of two sous, 
was allowed to see the post-cards, and in exchange 
for my two-sous piece chose a view of the Place 
Publique. 

At this time the army of occupation at Cambrai 
was the 6th Bavarians. On the whole, the be- 
haviour of the Bavarian soldiers was excellent. 
Cases of rioting and drunkenness were rare, and we 
heard no stories of atrocities such as the Germans 
were guilty of in Belgium. 



i64 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Picard and I stood at the hospital gate every 
morning for several days in succession, and in no 
case were we greeted with insults, although I found 
later on from personal experience that even a 
severely crippled enemy was not safe from the 
insulting jests of a German soldier. Of course we 
always saluted any officer who passed, and our 
salute was always punctiliously returned. Some- 
times a private soldier saluted, and one day two 
tall bearded reservists stopped, crossed the street, 
and gave me a packet of cigarettes. Next morning 
we found the gate closed. A note had been sent 
from the Kommandatur stating that ''it was for- 
bidden for soldiers to stand at the door of the 
hospital." The watchful "Verboten Department" 
scored another point and deprived us of a harmless 
amusement. 

A German orderly came on the 17th December 
with the following strange message : "The General 
is coming to inspect the hospital, and wishes to 
know if the Scotch officer would be good enough to 
wear his uniform." Being deficient of sporran, 
glengarry, kilt apron, S.B. belt, brogues, and spats, 
my "uniform" consisted of the khaki tunic, kilt, 
kilt pin, hose-tops and flashes, grey woollen socks, 
and black cloth snow-boots. On a black glengarry 
made by M. Herbin to my design I wore the cap 
badge, which I had fortunately taken off and put 
in my pocket when sitting in the trenches on the 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 165 

morning of the 26th August. I was making the 
best of this strange equipment when the arrival of 
the General and his Staff was announced. They 
were waiting for me in the corridor outside the 
Salle cinq. The picture of this group of German 
Staff officers is one not easily forgotten. I turned 
slowly in at the door with crutch and stick, labori- 
ously dragging one leg after another, rested against 
the wall, and saluted. Among the group I recog- 
nised Dr. Meyer, scowling and ill at ease; also 
General Oberarzt Schmidt, who, eager to show me 
off as being his own particular prize, was at once 
snubbed by the General, and subsided into a digni- 
fied silence. These Staff officers were all big heavy 
men of the usual German type, but the General, 
small, slimly built, with a light grey moustache, had 
an air of distinction that was almost French. His 
manner also was tactful and dignified. 

After a preliminary question about my health and 
inquiry as to my white hair, which I had to explain 
was probably due partly to shock and partly to my 
head having been so long bandaged up, the conver- 
sation got beyond the little German I possessed, and 
one of the big Staff officers came to the rescue in 
fluent but guttural English. They could not believe 
that the kilt was worn in the winter-time, and 
seemed to think that it was only a parade uniform. 
Many questions were asked about the advantages 
of the kilt as fighting kit. I said that it was a very 



i66 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

adaptable uniform, good both for fighting and for 
running away. This remark was recognised to be 
a joke, and translated as such to the General. I 
was asked how many regiments in Scotland wore 
the kilt, and if all the Highland regiments were 
composed of Highlanders. 

"No," I said in reply to another question, "we 
do not wear trousers even in winter." 

"Schrecklich kalt im winter," they repeated, 
nodding at each other suspiciously. 

With a polite wish for my speedy recovery the 
General intimated that the parade was at an end. 
The Staff clicked its heels and saluted — even Meyer 
had to swallow his hate and follow the example of 
the senior officers. 

Outside the corridor, Mme. la Directrice and 
some of the nurses were standing at the foot of 
the stairs ready to accompany the officers round 
the hospital, but the General passed by and went 
out into the court without taking any notice. 

The inspection was over. 

A lady who lives near Caudry came to see me. 
She told me that the graves of the British soldiers, 
both in the churchyard and in the fields around the 
village, are well cared for by the villagers, and that 
a large number of identity discs had, with the con- 
sent of the German authorities, been locked up at 
the Mairie. Near the little wood between Auden- 
court and Caudry, on the spot where we had dug 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 167 

our trenches on the morning of the 26th August, 
there are buried seventeen soldiers and three officers. 

About the middle of December the Medecin Chef 
was taken away to Germany. 

A number of causes now contributed to make 
life at the 106 wholly unendurable. An entire 
absence of discipline among the hospital orderlies 
and the constant squabbling of the nurses had been 
points which the doctor and I used often to discuss 
and deplore. Now that the restraining influence 
of the doctor's age and rank was no longer with 
us, the evils of disorganisation became every day 
more apparent. The "Directrice," or head matron 
of the hospital, was wholly incapable, and by her 
tactless mismanagement set the whole hospital by 
the ears. The orderlies grew noisier and more 
slovenly every day. Youths who had no occupation 
in the hospital, and only appeared at meal-times, 
were allowed to air their opinions in endless dis- 
cussion. Noisy, chattering visitors strolled in at all 
hours of the day, and there was no corner of the 
hospital safe from invasion. Quarrels among the 
nurses reached such a stage of bitterness that many 
were not on speaking terms. Friends whose kind 
visits I had always welcomed now came rarely or 
not at all. It was evident that such a state of 
affairs portended something more serious than 
tactlessness or mismanagement. The gossips of 
Cambrai were busy with many stories to the dis- 



i68 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

credit of Mme. la Directrice, but it seemed to me 
unreasonable that the voice of scandal should be 
concerned with a plain-looking woman the wrong 
side of forty. The whole afifair may have been 
merely foolishness and vanity, but it was certainly 
an indiscretion on the part of Mme. la Directrice 
to receive in the courtyard of the io6 Hospital, 
from the hand of a German orderly, bouquets of 
white chrysanthemums presented with the compli- 
ments of a German officer. 

Every morning at 1 1 o'clock I paid a visit to the 
Salle cinq. Many of the older inhabitants had gone, 
some to Germany, others now rested in what Picard 
calls le dernier costume. ■ No. 6 still complained 
unceasingly from his corner bed. No. 3, the Chas- 
seur Alpin with a bullet through the chest, had re- 
covered from various complications and was now 
able to sit up in a chair. Among the newcomers 
were three English soldiers. Ben Steele, a reservist 
from Manchester, had one bullet through his arm 
and one through his leg. Both wounds were healed, 
but the leg remained stifif, swollen, paralysed, and 
the pain was ceaseless. 

The story of his wound is one of those ugly tales 
of atrocities committed by individual German 
soldiers, for which the German Army, with its per- 
fect discipline, cannot escape responsibility. Ben 
was badly wounded in the arm, and was left lying 
in the trenches when his company retired, "I got 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 169 

that in fair fighting," said Ben, pointing to his 
wounded arm. He told me the rest of the story 
briefly, and did not care to refer to it again. "When 
the Germans came along they shouted 'Hands up.' 
I was lying in the bottom of the trench. I lifted 
my left hand, but a German soldier, jumping over 
the trench, fired down at me point-blank, and the 
bullet, which went through my right thigh, knocked 
me unconscious." Ben was sent back to England 
a few months later, and will probably be crippled 
for life. 

On December 5th a party of convalescent British 
soldiers arrived from the Civil Hospital, among 
them R. Anderson, a reservist from my own bat- 
talion, L.-Cpl. M'Donald, Royal Irish, and James 
Prime, Rifle Brigade. 

I can never forget the four days these men spent 
with me at the 106 — first, because they were such 
good companions, and second, because two of these 
men subsequently met death at German hands 
under circumstances of revolting inhumanity. 

Prime represented all that is best in the typical 
English soldier. He came from the Midlands, the 
heart of England. It was a treat for me to sit and 
listen to the story of his short battle experience, 
which, a plan and common tale in these times, 
acquired enthralling interest from the graphic 
language and (|uiet humour of the speaker. 

Irish, Scotch, and English, we all gathered in 



I70 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

the Salle cinq and forgot our troubles, present and 
impending. 

Prime was a born story-teller. He possessed the 
rare faculty of making pictures in the minds of his 
hearers. He showed me a photograph of his wife 
and children, and I can well remember the descrip- 
tion of his home in England. We found a subject 
of mutual interest in the keeping of poultry on the 
"intensive" system, and discussed the respective 
merits of Wyandottes, Leghorns, and Bufif 
Orpingtons. 

"Bob" Anderson, when I first saw him, was 
sitting dressed in blue coat and red kepi at the 
refectory table with Prime, M' Donald the Irish 
Lance-Corporal, and half a dozen French soldiers. 
Right glad I was to hear the familiar accents of 
my native land ! 

Anderson could give me no news of the battalion, 
as he had been knocked out at the same time and 
place as myself. On the whole, the Germans had 
so far treated him fairly well. "It was surely the 
whole German army," said Bob, "that marched 
along the road near Audencourt when I was lying 
in the ditch with a broken leg, smoking my pipe. 
They didn't take much notice. At one of the halts 
a German stepped out of the ranks — 'Hullo, Jock, 
what's ado wi' you?' said he, and gave me a drink 
out of his water-bottle. This was a German who 
had lived for fifteen years in Glasgow ! The next 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 171 

halt was a different story. Several of the Germans 
gathered round, shook their fists at me, and one of 
them snatched the pipe out of my mouth and threw 
it away." 

M'Donald, who soon after died a hero's death at 
Wittenberg, was a young fellow not more than 
twenty-one or twenty-two, quiet, sad, and delicate- 
looking. He had quite recovered from a dangerous 
wound in the chest, though he was still weak and 
walked with difficulty. 

A photographer came and took a group of the 
British soldiers, who were mostly dressed in French 
uniform, and next day they were all taken off to 
Germany. Their departure for Germany was such 
a day of sadness for us who were left behind, that 
it seems as if we must have had some premonition 
of the future. The men went off loaded with as 
many parcels as they could carry — shirts, socks, 
tobacco, food, a bottle of wine in each greatcoat 
pocket, and five francs each from the Hospital 
funds. 

Of the three soldiers, Anderson is the only one 
who has lived to tell the story of what befell after 
leaving the courtyard of the 106 on Dec. 7, 191 4. 
Anderson survived, was eventually exchanged, and 
we met a year later in Millbank Hospital. The 
following is the story in his own words, taken down 
in shorthand. It is a story which bears the stamp 
of truth in every word, and is corroborated in every 



172 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

detail by a Government report published in all the 
daily papers on April lo, 19 16: — 

"When we left Cambrai Station, we were sent 
in a hospital train to Giessen ; it took us three days. 
We had one basin of soup each day, and a piece 
of bread. 

"When we got to Giessen we were taken to a 
waiting-room at the station and bad used. All the 
English were put on one side, called 'English 
swine' and that kind of thing. We were then taken 
in a motor ambulance to the Town Hall in Giessen. 
We were three weeks in that hospital and the food 
was all right there, but we, especially tlie English, 
were bad used all the time by the orderlies. There 
were four English altogether — M'Donald, Prime, 
and myself, and another chap in the Wilts. We went 
from there to Giessen camp, a great big French 
camp, and had to march two and a half miles with 
two sticks; I was nearly dead when I reached that 
camp; it was all uphill, and a crowd behind us 
shoving us on. We were there three days, then had 
orders to fall in and march to the station again. We 
started to march to the station, but I was not fit to 
do it, and some one stopped me in the town, put me 
on a car, and took me to the station in the car. We 
got to Wittenberg the next day, and as soon as we 
arrived in Wittenberg all the people were at the 
station, a big crowd, men and women. They all 
had big sticks, some had bars of iron, and we had 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 173 

to run the gauntlet of this,— of course I could not 
do so. I got one terrible kick, but anyhow I man- 
aged to get into camp, and as soon as we got into 
camp we got knocked about by the Germans, and 
everything was taken from us. 

"Of course the food was horrible all the time. 
We had heard stories about typhus in the camp, 
and the French doctors inoculated us. I took ill 
about the beginning of February, and the French- 
man took my temperature, which was very high. 
He ordered me to the hospital, but there were no 
stretchers to be got. Six men carried me down to 
the bottom of the camp, about half a mile, and 
dragged me into an empty bungalow. It was in the 
same camp; there was no isolation. I was put on 
the floor amongst a lot of Russians ; there were very 
few beds, and I was on the bare floor. In the camp 
there was one bed between three men, and I had 
left my bed in the camp. I lay on the bare floor 
all the afternoon; no orderlies were there; nobody 
came near me. The soup came up at night — just 
the same ordinary rations as we got in camp. The 
soup came up in a wooden tub without a cover, and 
they had to carry it about half a mile from the 
cook-house, and it arrived at the hospital full of 
dust and dirt— at the door of the hospital. The 
strongest that were able to get it got it, and the 
weakest lay without. That is a fact. I lay there 



174 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

about three or four days, when some Englishmen 
volunteered to come down and look after us. 

"I took typhus first : when I was in hospital four 
or five days, Prime was carried there; he was put 
down on the floor, and died four or five days after- 
wards. Sergeant Spence of the Scots Guards was 
with him when he died. Just before the end they 
got him a ramshackle bed made up with boards, 
no mattress. 

"The place was a long, narrow hut, whitewashed 
all over, and about one hundred men in it, abso- 
lutely packed, and not more than half a dozen beds 
at the first. We lay on the floor. There were 
stoves, but hardly any coal. No one brought in any 
food. You had to go outside to get it, and the 
orderly would give you some soup in your basin if 
you were there. Those not fit to rise from the floor 
got none unless a comrade brought it to them. 

"The French doctors came round, but what coukl 
they do ? They had nothing to give you, and could 
do absolutely nothing. 

"The Germans had all left the camp as soon as 
typhus broke out. They built up wooden shoots to 
put the food down. When parcels from home came 
they went down the shoot. 

"When the beds came in carts they were lifted 
over the barbed wire. No Germans came in. 

"There were never enough beds, and men were 
lying on the floor all the time. 



o.' 
> 



3° 




STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 175 

"We had nearly 100 deaths a day at one time. 
The total population of the camp was about 16-17,- 
000, with only about six doctors, French and 
Russian. Then we had six British R.A.M.C. 
doctors — Captain Sutcliffe, Major Fry, Captain 
Fielding, Captain Vidal, and Mr. Lugard. Major 
Fry, Captain Fielding, and Captain Sutcliffe took 
the typhus and died. I never got a wash all the 
time I was there until I was able to go to the 
tap. There was one fellow, a private in the 
Gordons, who never had his wound dressed ; it was 
running all the time. He died of pure neglect and 
typhus. A man died next me with his clothes on, 
never had them ofif, even his greatcoat on. Our 
clothes were running with vermin — millions! 

"You could not get dressings or bandages. I 
have seen men with open wounds who have had to 
wash their bandages, and hang them up to dry 
before they could put them on again. 

"M'Donald volunteered as an orderly in the 
Typhus Ward, and when he came along he was 
only one day on duty when he took typhus. He got 
better, but declined because of the starvation diet. 
I had him out walking for a little bit up and down, 
but he was very weak, a living skeleton. He would 
fall down, and I told him to try and get up and 
walk a little bit. 'Oh, Jock,' he says, 'I'm no' fit.' 
'Come on,' I said, 'try.' He got a parcel from home 



176 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

— one from his mother — just before he died. It 
was just from hunger and neglect. 

"Things were getting that bad about the month 
of April that the Germans began to get a little 
afraid, and started a new hospital — about half a 
dozen of huts. It was isolated from the camp, and 
we moved there about the beginning of May. 

"Things gradually got a little better after that, 
but January, February, and March were three awful 
months. 

"The Germans did not come back into the camp 
till the month of August. 

"After I was better of the typhus I was back in 
the same camp. All food was thrown over the 
barbed wire. Even packets were sent down the 
shoot. The Germans never came near ; you would 
see them outside the wire. Just before the Ameri- 
can Ambassador came there was a new thing for 
carrying down the food — something like a dustbin 
with a lid on. The shoot is still there, but is not 
used. After the Ambassador came we put in a 
claim, saying we had been passed as unfit for mili- 
tary service, and men who ought to have gone 
home last August had had it cancelled at the last 
moment; but we heard no more. The American 
Ambassador said that must be the Government's 
fault; he would see about it. He sent us a lot of 
games. We were only allowed to play games 
between the huts. 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 177 

"The camp was run by the Russians, and nobody 
to look after us. The Germans never came in; you 
could do what you liked as long as you did not go 
too near the wire, when they used to sound the 
alarm. When the alarm sounded at night we had 
to run into the park, and if you did not get into 
the park soon enough they fired at you. They fired 
one night and killed six Frenchmen. One of the 
Royal Irish who came up with me had a bullet right 
past his ear, — I suppose it made him pretty nippy. 

"We got no clean clothing or a change. The 
English were all in rags : you would not know 
they were soldiers at all to look at them. Just 
three days before the American Ambassador came, 
when they heard he was coming, they paraded us 
all up and looked at our underclothing. We got 
a shirt and a pair of socks to smarten us up. You 
could never get hot water ; but the day that the 
American Ambassador came the Germans came 
round in the morning and told us that if any of us 
wanted hot water, to send two men out of each 
room to the cook-house and get as much boiling 
water as w^e wanted. We wondered what was up : 
w'e were saying there was something up that day. 
The Ambassador asked us what clothing we had. 
He made a great improvement : we got shirts and 
overcoats, but they took all our overcoats away. 

"He asked a lot of men if they had had typhus: 
he seemed to know all about it. Just previous to 



178 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

that, a Mr. Jackson from the American Embassy 
came. It is wonderful how things got about the 
camp. This was shortly after the typhus was 
cleared out, but he did not come into the camp. 
There were about thirty yards of space between 
the wires, and he could not speak to any of us; he 
just went round. There was a crowd of Germans; 
but when Mr. Gerard came himself he came into 
the barrack-room and asked one man a question, 
then another. 

"There was a German who could speak English, 
but he never came near them. Mr. Gerard seemed 
to go about the thing very business-like : he was not 
afraid. He was very keen on getting hold of any 
man who had been out working and had come in 
again to camp. Some had not been paid. They 
were only paid 30 pfennigs (3d.) a day for a hard 
day's work. The camp was working at a big 
factory, and you had to get up at 4 in the morning, 
and they drove you into a big square like a sheep- 
pen and put all the English together. We called 
it the Slave Market. They drove you into this 
pen, and the gangers would come in the morning 
and take you out. T will have you,' and 'You come 
along with me,' — just like a slave market. We had 
to get up at 4 and went out at 5. You were put in 
the slave market at 5.30, and worked from then 
till 6 at night — and very hard work too. We were 
v.orking on building a big factory where they were 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 179 

making hand-grenades — very intricate machinery. 
Nobody seemed quite to know what they were 
manufacturing there. The men were carrying the 
stone for the building. One German who coukl 
speak English told one of my chums that the fac- 
tory was for making hand-grenades. 

"They gave out an order that there was to be no 
smoking in the barrack-room, as the French had 
refused to allow German prisoners in France to 
smoke, so they would stop it there. If they caught 
a man smoking, and they had a stick, he got it. 
There were no orders printed to tell us what we had 
or had not to do. They never deliberately tied an 
Englishman to a post, but I have seen them doing 
it to Russians, tying them up to the post. If you 
did anything that did not please them, you were 
put in the coal-hole, we used to call it, the place 
where they get the coal-bri(|uettes from, and kept 
without food for three days — only bread and water, 
solitary confinement. Many an Englishman got 
that. We used to carry down some of our dinner 
and slip it into them. 

"The day the American Ambassador came, 
Captain Vidal looked well after it, and anything 
that was done he reported it at once. I think he 
had been saying something to the American Am- 
bassador, and one of the Germans had overheard it. 
When the Ambassador went away, he struck 
Captain Vidal with his sword. We heard that was 



i8o WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

the reason why Captain Vidal did not come with us, 
as there was an inquiry about it at the time. Then 
Major Priestly was in soHtary confinement for a 
while — I don't know what he had done; we heard 
that he was found with a revolver, but we could 
not say. He was isolated away from the officers 
altogether for close on two months — never saw him. 
He is back again in camp now. We read in the 
'Continental Times' that he was going home on the 
3rd September — or August — but some proceedings 
were being taken against him. It said in the 'Con- 
tinental Times' misbehaviour, — I suppose in look- 
ing well after the wounded — or something like that. 
"One day we had to pass the German doctor and 
then went back to barracks. Heard no more until 
six days afterwards, and the ist December a Ger- 
man came up about 8 a.m. and formed us up in the 
barrack-room. Some of those going home had a 
new shirt given them. A Russian was stopped and 
told to take off his clogs and give them to that 
Englishman. Then we went to Aachen. A com- 
plaint had been sent to Wittenberg about us; they 
were kicking up a terrible row for sending us away 
like that. The officer commanding the camp asked 
us where we came from. When we said Wittenberg, 
he said he thought so. We looked such awful sights 
— filthy ; and we were supposed to be dressed com- 
ing away. We were very well treated at Aachen — 
they always do so. Every one was nicer than 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 i8i 

another, to try and create a good impression. We 
knew what it was. 

"I was sorry for two chaps. One of the London 
Scottish had been there fourteen months, and had 
a bad wound in his leg, and could not move his leg. 
He was sent back because he was a non-commis- 
sioned officer. Another man, a sergeant, with his 
leg off, could speak Hindustani, and I think that 
was the reason he was sent back, but I am not sure. 
His leg was off to the thigh. He was with the 
Lugard party. A lance-corporal, with his arm off, 
was also sent back, after thinking he was going to 
be exchanged. None of the non-commissioned 
officers got away from that place." 

There is a corner of the hospital courtyard where 
in December the rays of the sun will fall for the 
space of an hour, illuminating first the big high wall 
which shuts off light and air from the northwest, 
then throwing upon the ground itself a triangle of 
light which gradually broadens, loses shape, and 
fills at last the narrow passage between the court- 
yard and the dead garden, but stops short of the 
broken wooden paling, throwing no cleansing ray 
on the dismal rubbish-heaps, leaving undisturbed 
the sepulchral clamminess of the shadows beyond. 

In days of peace this corner was surely favoured 
by the school children. From the high wall to the 
gable of the main building stretches a single heavy 



i82 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

beam, which had perhaps once been painted green, 
but was now green with the mould of decay. A 
few rusty rings and hooks, from one of which a 
piece of sodden rope still hung, showed to what 
purpose the beam had served. 

The rain, which had been falling steadily, as it 
seemed, day and night during November, was 
checked by the first threat of frost, and during the 
fortnight before Christmas we had bright and 
cheerful weather. A few convalescent patients were 
tempted to take a seat in the sun, and came to notice 
the hour, early in the afternoon, when the triangle 
of light first strikes the high wall. 

We had a bench placed against the wall (it was 
a very tiny one, and belonged to one of the junior 
classrooms). Picard, myself, and two French 
soldiers from Salle un were at first the only 
habitues; none of the British soldiers remaining at 
the 1 06 were able to leave their beds, and most of 
the other Frenchmen were either too weak or too 
frightened of fresh air to come out and sit in the 
yard. 

It is a common failing of human nature to feel 
comforted at the sight of other people's misfortune. 
So it was that the sight of a French soldier who had 
been shot in the head aroused in me not only the 
interest of pity, but also, I must confess, a sense of 
superiority at finding some one worse ofif than my- 
self. Jean was the name we called him by. No 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 183 

one knew his real name or his regiment, or the place 
where he was born, or any details of how he had 
been wounded. His wound in the head was on the 
left side, almost exactly in the same place as my 
own — the bullet had made the same furrow, all the 
symptoms were identical, the right leg dragging, the 
right arm hanging, the slow elephantine movement ; 
but there was a difference, said Dr. Debu, between 
the two points of impact. In the case of Jean the 
impact of the bullet was a hair's-breadth more to 
the front of the head, only the difference of perhaps 
a tenth of a millimetre. And so it was that poor 
Jean had lost not only the power of motion on the 
right side, but also speech, memory, and under- 
standing. 

All these faculties might return in time (doctors 
are optimists par metier), but at present understand- 
ing was limited to questions of the most primitive 
order — cold and heat, hunger and thirst; speech to 
a moan which signified no ; memory to events of the 
past forty-eight hours, so that Jean knew nothing 
of the war, of his regiment, of his home; his face 
with his dropped jaw and vacant look was already 
the face of an idiot. 

One morning in the refectory Jean fell off his 
chair on to the floor, grew purple in the face and 
foamed at the mouth. Urgent messengers flew off 
to fetch Dr. Debu, and we all thought it was the end 
of Jean, until my nurse of the Salle cinq suggested 



i84 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

epileptic fits, an opinion which was subsequently 
ratified by the doctor's verdict, "epilepsie Jack- 
sonienne." Jean did not appear again in the yard 
until nearly a fortnight after this incident, and his 
place on the bench in the sun was taken by another 
whose name, according to his own statement, was 
"Mahamed, son of Mahamed." 

Mahamed was still limping badly from a shot 
wound in the calf. He did not look more than 
nmeteen, and came from near Oran. His knowl- 
edge of French was confined to "Merci le Madam," 
with a shining smile, and "Alleman grand cochon." 
Mahamed, having discovered my knowledge of a 
few words of his native tongue and my acquaint- 
ance with his native country, followed me about 
like a shadow. For many months his feelings had 
perforce been suppressed, and now presuming too 
greatly on my supposed fluency in Arabic conversa- 
tion, the poor fellow sat on the little bench in the 
sun pouring out his story. 

We had the story nearly every day, and I began 
to put bits of it together. Of one thing he was 
quite certain, namely, that the "Alleman" was a 
pig and son of a pig, and that his other ancestors 
were of most infamous repute. In the mixed lingo 
of the bench, the same declaration was made every 
day at the close of the sitting, when the sun went 
behind the high wall: "Alleman no bon, kif kif 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 185 

cochon Yhoiidi ben Yhoudi, Sheitan ben Sheitan, 
Halouf ben Halouf." 

"Qa. c'est tout de meme vrai," said Picard the 
one-legged, patting his stump thoughtfully and 
pulling volcanoes of smoke from his clay pipe. 
"Alleman kif kif cochon." "Le Boche voyez vous," 
said Picard, addressing the bench party, which was 
slowly moving back to hospital, "le Boche 9a a des 
petits yeux de cochon, c'est blanc et rose, comme le 
cochon, ga mange. . . . Ah, les Roches Halouf ben 
Halouf," and Picard hurriedly finished his discourse 
out of respect for M. le Vicaire-General, who had 
just joined the group. 

"Bonjour, M. le Vicaire, you're just in time," I 
said. "Nous disions du mal de notre prochain." 
"II n'y a pas de mal a (ja, Monsieur le Cure," 
interrupted Picard, "puisque nous ne parlions que 
des Boches." "Voyons. M. le Cure,'" this aggres- 
sively, "the Gospel tells us to love our enemies. Do 
you love the Boches?" This question, and the spirit 
in which it w^as asked, was significant of the new 
atmosphere which had begun to permeate the Salle 
cinq after the arrival of the French soldier who had 
declared himself an enemy of fresh air. Gradually 
this man's evil influence pervaded the whole ward, 
just as the evil thing he stood for had permeated all 
France before the war. 

M. le Vicaire-General came to the Salle cinq 
nearly every day, visiting each man's bedside, and 



i86 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

no man, except one, however unspiritual his past, 
could resist the charm of the old priest, in whose 
smile shone an unselfish soul. 

The "enemy of fresh air" was known to the 
British soldiers in the ward as "Judas Iscariot." 
When the priest came near his bed, Judas shook his 
head slightly and smiled an almost imperceptible 
smile, with all the air of saying, "La religion c'est 
pour les enfants, les femmes et les imbeciles." 

It was some sneer from Judas that prompted 
Picard's question. 

"Voyons, M. le Cure, aimez vouz les Boches?" 

The old priest looked at Picard's honest troubled 
face and answered slowly — 

"Mais puisque I'evangile nous ordonne de nous 
aimer les uns les autres et surtout d'aimer nos 
ennemis, il faut toujours faire son possible pour 
suivre ce divin conseil et je peux dire que j'aime les 
Boches — mais — chez eux — pas chez nous." 

In Germany, just as in England, Christmas is 
kept with great feasting and rejoicing, and during 
the week preceding Christmas M. Vampouille was 
hard at work making sausages for his German 
customers, who w^ere to hold a festive meeting at 
the Kommandantur. Great preparations were also 
being made at the io6, and the stafif of the hospital, 
forgetting for the time being their private squabbles, 
joined with our friends in the town in preparing a 
Merry Christmas. 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 187 

Christmas morning. Mass at 10 o'clock in Salle 
un. M, le Vicaire-General preaches a tactful sermon 
on "resignation." After Mass candles on the 
Christmas tree are lit and presents distributed. 

The altar was erected at the extreme end of Salle 
un, and very artistically decorated with palms, laurel 
branches, and holly ; behind the altar were two large 
flags (home-made) of England and France; on the 
right was a large Christmas tree. 

All patients who were fit to be moved, except 
Judas Iscariot, were carried up from the Salle cinq 
and grouped near the altar. In the bed nearest the 
altar a British reservist lay with a shattered spine, 
still alive, still conscious, still able to speak, the 
lower half of his body lifeless since the 26th of 
August 1914. This was his last week on earth. 
"Here's a funny kind of Christmas," he whispered; 
"next Christmas we'll be at home, shan't we?" 

On my right, close to the altar steps, sat Picard, 
beyond him Mahamed ben Mahamed looking 
puzzled and depressed, and at the end of the row a 
lady on crutches, dressed in deep mourning, who 
had lost a leg during thetaeroplane fight in Septem- 
ber. The other wounded were seated in beds, 
packed in double row, half-way down each side of 
the ward, the remainder of which was filled with 
friends from the town. 

Madame Tondeur was busy in the kitchen with 
three turkeys to roast and carve into very small 



i88 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

pieces, so that every one might get a taste. The 
plum pudding being very small, was reserved for 
the Salle cinq. Printed directions on the tin sug- 
gested that the pudding could be eaten cold or 
boiled for "half an hour." Perhaps this was a mis- 
print for "half a day." After the half-hour's boil- 
ing, the pudding still seemed to have a compressed 
appearance, and looked very diminutive under its 
large stick of holly. Madame Tondeur herself 
carried the flaming pudding into the Salle cinq, 
divided it up into twelve portions, the indigestible 
but fortunately small fragments were duly eaten, 
and the ancient tradition of Christmas remained 
for us unbroken. 

Between Christmas and the New Year it was 
decided that my name was to go down on the list 
of "transportables," and that I would have to join 
the next party for Germany. Thinking over the 
last few days spent at the io6 Hospital, I remember 
first of all the parting words of my nurse: "In 
days to come try and remember the bright side of 
your stay here and forget the days of darkness." 
And here I may say in plain words what I feel most 
deeply, although these words cannot be read for 
many months, perhaps years, by those to whom I 
would wish to address them. 

Many a limbless British soldier owes his life to 
the surgeon of the Civil Hospital. The question in 
those days was not merely "Will an operation save 



STORIES FROM LE NUMERO io6 189 

life?" but rather, "Is there time to operate on those 
whose lives might be saved?" Dr. Debu proved 
himself to be the man for such an emergency. 
United to great skill, he possessed great physical 
strength and powers of resistance to fatigue. For 
three days and three nights he operated almost with- 
out taking time for meals or sleep. 

For the devoted kindness of the French doctors 
and nurses, both of the Hopital Civil, the 106, and 
the other ten or twelve hospitals of Cambrai, who 
for many months under conditions of great diffi- 
culty and danger, without many of the most neces- 
sary medical appliances, worked night and day to 
save the Hves of British soldiers and to ease the last 
moments of the mortally wounded, I feel that this 
very inadequate expression of gratitude must be set 
down. 

There are many other kind friends at Cambrai 
whose kindness I can never forget. 

Consider my situation at Cambrai : unknown, cut 
off from all intercourse with the world, about to 
start off for a German prison, and without a six- 
pence. I did not like to ask a loan from my kind 
friends, who had already given me a complete outfit 
of underclothing and toilet necessaries. On New 
Year's Day the subject of money was broached by 
M. Ray in a straightforward business-like manner. 
"You are shortly going to Germany," he said ; 
"even in prison money is useful; you will need some 



I90 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

money ; we have brought you some." The sum M. 
Ray proposed to give me was £50! We decided 
that half this sum would be ample, and I gave M. 
Ray a receipt "payable apres la guerre." 

After these true friends in need had left, M. Vam- 
pouille came in to sit with me, and he made the same 
suggestion about money, and insisted on my accept- 
ing a further sum, the loan of which, he said, is 
granted on one condition only: "You must not 
pay me by cheque, you must come yourself — after 
the war !" 

Next morning a decrepit omnibus driven by a 
German soldier came to take me from the Hopital 
106 to M. Brunot's Hopital Annexe, from where, 
after three days, I was sent off to Germany. 



i 



CHAPTER VI 



CAMBR^M TO WURZBURG 



I HAD been four months in hospital when my name 
was put down on the hst of "transportables," and 
a place was reserved for me in the "Ziig Lazaret." 

These trains were made up according to the 
output from the different hospitals along the front, 
chiefly from Lille, Douai, Cambrai, and St, Ouentin. 

After the pressure of traffic consequent on the 
rush back from the Marne had subsided, a regular 
hospital-train service was inaugurated, and trains 
direct to Munich were run once a week. 

When I expressed some fears to Dr. Schmidt as 
to how I would be treated on my journey, he 
laughed, saying something about German culture, 
and that one must not believe all the tales one hears 
about the Germans. At any rate, he assured me I 
had nothing to fear, for instructions had been given 
to pay every attention that the nature of my wound 
required, and I was to travel by a special Lazaret 

191 



192 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

with a comfortable bed and plenty of good food 
from a restaurant car. 

In the light of subsequent experiences I am 
sometimes rather suspicious of my friend's kindly 
intentions. The German idea of humour is so 
different from any other. I often wonder if Dr. 
Schmidt had been "pulling my leg'' in his clumsy 
German way. 

However, when the motor ambulance came to 
fetch me at lo a.m. on the 6th of January, I started 
off on my journey quite free in my mind from pain- 
ful anticipations. I pictured to myself a comfortable 
hospital train, with perhaps a German Schwester to 
look after the worst cases, and if not a made-up 
bed, at least a stretcher on which I could rest my 
paralysed limbs. 

On arriving at Cambrai station I found that the 
"special hospital train" consisted of ordinary 3rd- 
class corridor coaches, which were packed with 
French and English wounded. I was helped along 
the train by two kindly German soldiers, and lifted 
up into a 2nd-class carriage, where I was warmly 
greeted by a French Army doctor, like myself en 
route for a German prison. 

One side of the carriage had been made up as a 
bed, and the nice white sheets looked most inviting. 
However, my satisfaction with what I supposed to 
be the arrangements for my comfort was short- 
lived, I had scarcely time for more than a few 




M. LE VICAIRE-GENERAL 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 193 

words with the French doctor when a German 
officer, a Heutenant, appeared at the door. His 
message was brief and easy to understand. I was 
to get out. 

In spite of my protests, this officer attempted to 
make me cHmb down on to the platform, but as 
this was quite beyond my powers, he allowed me to 
crawl along the corridor. At the far end of the 
train was a 3rd-class corridor coach of the usual 
Continental type, with hard wooden seats, the 
partitions running only half-way to the roof. This 
coach was lull of wounded French and English 
soldiers, among whom I recognised several who 
had been in hospital witli me, but I was not allowed 
to speak to them. At the end of the coach was a 
compartment, one side of which had been trans- 
formed into a bed by nailing up a board against the 
seat, which was covered with straw. 

I was assisted on to my bed of straw by a Ger- 
man N.C.O., who, along with three other soldiers, 
all with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets, took up 
all the remaining room in the carriage. It was evi- 
dent that I was to be efficiently guarded. 

I took no notice of my escort, but kept an eye 
on the platform, as I wished to get a hold of some 
German officer of high rank, in order to protest 
against my removal from the 2nd-class carriage. 
Presently an inspecting officer, a captain, I think, 
came along the train. 



194 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

I explained to this officer that the wound in my 
head was only newly healed, that I was still quite 
paralysed on one side, and that Dr. Schmidt had 
arranged (as I thought) for my proper accommo- 
dation on the journey. 

I requested permission to be allowed to travel 
along with the French officer from whose company 
I had been somewhat rudely shifted. 

The German officer, standing on the platform, 
listened to what I had to say, and when I had 
finished he got on to the footboard, looked through 
my carriage window at the wooden bed, the straw, 
and the three sentries, and then I got my answer : 
"Das ist schon fiir einen Englander." 

This was my first lesson in German Kultur. I 
thanked the contemptuous German most heartily, 
and I fancy that my exaggerated politeness some- 
what annoyed him. 

Although I did not appear to be taking any notice 
of my sentries, I could not avoid catching the eye 
of the man opposite, who kept on glaring at me with 
a most objectionable persistency. 

I looked at him in my most benevolent manner, 
but made no attempt at conversation. 

When presently the others got up and went out 
into the corridor, this man's conduct became most 
alarming. He was evidently under stress of some 
strong emotion. Suddenly his whole manner 
changed. Laying a finger on his lips with a warn- 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 195 

ing gesture, he bent towards me and said in a low 
tense voice, "]\Ioi aiissi je hais les Allemands." 

In spite of the hatred in his voice and the bitter 
look which accompanied the words, I did not show 
much eagerness to follow up this somewhat startling 
opening for conversation. I was rather afraid of 
some trap. One had heard stories of prisoners on 
the way to Germany being taken out of the train and 
shot on the accusation of having spoken of the 
Fatherland in an unbecoming manner or on some 
similar trumped-up charge. All attempt at further 
conversation was, however, put a stop to by the 
return of the other sentries. 

The soldier opposite, whether friend or foe I 
knew not, remained silent and motionless in his 
corner, although from time to time he favoured me 
with a malevolent stare, while his companions took 
hardly any notice of me at all. It was some time 
before another opportunity occurred for private 
conversation. However, at some country station 
the three soldiers got out to get a drink of coffee, 
leaving me alone with the mysterious sentry. Again 
his manner changed, and again bending forward, 
he hissed with a hatred in his voice that seemed 
very genuine, *'Moi aussi je hais les Allemands." 

And then in atrociously bad French my "friendly" 
enemy threw light on his mysterious behaviour by 
explaining that he was a Pole, and was under 
orders to join at Valenciennes some reinforcements 



196 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

that were being hurried up to Arras. "I have to go 
on," he said; "I cannot help myself, but I will never 
aim straight at the French or English." 

I suggested that he might perhaps manage to get 
taken prisoner, but he answered that it would be 
most difficult, as all Poles were kept separate from 
their fellow-countrymen and closely watched. 

Any shirking in the firing line would mean instant 
death at the hand of some Bavarian comrade. 

He begged me not to betray by any word or sign 
that we had conversed together, because he was 
looked upon with suspicion by the other soldiers, 
and for that reason had feigned intense hatred of 
the English. This was the explanation of the malev- 
olent stare at me. At this point the other sentries 
returned, and no further opportunity for conversa- 
tion occurred. 

My newly-found friend was evidently worrying 
over his miserable lot. He took out a well- 
thumbed Feldpostkarte, and as he read one could 
see that his thoughts were far away with the wife 
and children from whose side he had been dragged 
to fight for the hereditary enemies of his country. 
I shall not easily forget the sadness of the man's 
face, — a young face with very dark, dog-like eyes. 
There was nothing smart about him ; he was indeed 
rather more dirty than even a travel-stained soldier 
from Poland had any right to be. As I looked at 
him I thou Hit of the countless numbers of Gennan 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 197 

soldiers whose lives had been sacrificed in vain 
efforts to capture the French position at Arras. And 
this man was to be one more. His fate was perhaps 
the hardest of all. For him there would not even be 
the soldier's last consolation of duty done. As the 
train drew up at Valenciennes the soldiers in my 
carriage began to put on their equipment, and when 
the train had stopped they all got out. My Polish 
friend went out last, and as he left the carriage he 
turned round and bade me with his eyes a silent and 
almost appealing farewell. 

Valenciennes is an important junction, forming 
a central point from which the railway line branches 
off to both the French and the English front. More- 
over, the principal base hospital had been trans- 
ferred here from Cambrai early in October, so I 
was not surprised to find the platform crowded 
with Red Cross attendants, stretcher-bearers, doc- 
tors, railway transport officers, and soldiers repre- 
senting all parts of the German Empire. Now that 
my Polish friend and his two comrades had gone I 
was left alone with the fat unterofficicr, who took 
the first opportunity that was offered of exercising 
his authority over me. 

It was a very mild evening for January, and as 
I soon got tired of watching the crowd of German 
soldiery, whose presence in France is an outrage 
that cannot be fully realised by merely reading 
about it in the papers, I leant out of the window 



198 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

on the opposite side of the train. The contrast was 
striking. Not a soldier was in sight, and the Httle 
French town, as far as one could see from my car- 
riage window, seemed abnormally quiet. To make 
complete the illusions of peace, a grey-headed 
French railway employee in his blue blouse came 
sauntering down the line. 

When he reached my carriage and saw the Brit- 
ish uniform, he cordially wished me good-evening, 
and asked where I had been wounded. I did not get 
further in the conversation than to return the "bon- 
soir" when my sentry rushed across the carriage, 
threw up the window, and in a voice meant to be 
most terrifying thundered out that "to speak out 
of the window was 'verboten.' " 

I said I was sorry, but did not know it to be 
"verboten." This inoffensive remark produced a 
regular parade scolding, accompanied by an inter- 
esting exhibition of eye-rolling, which forms an im- 
portant part of German military discipline. 

The lecture ended up with a dramatic pointing 
of the finger to an enormous high-up stomach and 
"Ich verbiete." I said "All right." 

This seemed about to cause another storm, so I 
hurriedly translated it into "Ist gut." 

My guardian, still rumbling, went out into the 
corridor ; I opened the window again, and the train 
moved slowly out of the station. 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 199 

The train did not stop again till we were well 
over the Belgian frontier. 

I did not see any frontier marks, nor did we stop 
at any frontier stations. A rough calculation, how- 
ever, of the distance we had gone from Valen- 
ciennes showed that we must have reached Belgium 
about 6 A.M. As the train was now going very 
slowly, I was able to observe the countryside with 
more attention, and I was eagerly looking out for 
some landmark that might enable me to recognise 
the road along which we had marched on our way 
up to Mons nearly five months before. 

Our first stop in Belgium was at a small country 
station, the name of which I have forgotten. This 
place must have been just on the fringe of the fight- 
ing during the last week of August. It was here 
that began the trail of the Hun. 

The station was a complete wreck, and in the 
adjoining village only one house seemed to have 
escaped destruction. Temporary shelters had been 
rigged up with corrugated iron all along the plat- 
form, at the end of which was a wooden Red Cross 
dressing-station. 

These dressing-stations have been set up at every 
station, however small, all along the line between 
the German frontier and the front, and form a 
striking example of German organisation and effi- 
ciency. They consist of two small rooms, one of 
which can be used as an operating-room, and is 



20O WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

stocked with first-aid appliances and a small phar- 
macy. The whole building can be taken dov^n and 
set up elsewhere in a very short time. 

The country now presented a melancholy sight, 
and as the railway line itself had been much dam- 
aged, the speed of the train was reduced to a crawl 
over the numerous temporary wooden railway 
bridges. 

In Belgium the railway line was always strongly 
guarded, while in France I hardly noticed any 
troops except at the railway stations. From the 
moment we entered Belgium it was evident that a 
great number of soldiers were billeted in the villages 
and towns, or rather in the huts that had been con- 
structed amidst the ruins. In fact, the German sol- 
diers seemed in this district to have taken the place 
of the Belgian population, as between the frontier 
and Mons I do not remember seeing a single Bel- 
gian. Of course, at this time I did not know that 
thousands of Belgians had fled to England, nor had 
I heard anything more than vague rumours of 
German atrocities, such as the burning of Louvain 
and the indiscriminate murder of the civilian popu- 
lation in many parts of Belgium. I was therefore 
somewhat at a loss to understand why the railway 
line was so very much more carefully guarded in 
Belgium than it was in France, and why the civilian 
population seemed to have almost disappeared. 

As we began to enter the mining district in which 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 201 

the town of Mons is situated, I looked out of my 
prison window with renewed interest at the more 
dominant features of the landscape, which I could 
now recognise quite distinctly. 

At one place the line followed for a short time 
the very road along which we had marched on the 
22nd August, the day before the battle of Mons, 
happy in our ignorance of all that was to come. 

It was along this same straight road lined with 
tall poplar trees that the grey-clad German soldiers 
had been rushed on in motor-cars, that the hun- 
dreds of machine-guns and light artillery had hur- 
ried with the hope, that was so nearly realised at 
Le Cateau, of destroying what was left of the little 
British army. Further on the line skirts the now 
famous Canal de Conde. 

The effect of the German shell fire was very 
noticeable along the banks of the canal. Most of 
the houses within a hundred yards of the water had 
been totally destroyed, so that the ground between 
ihe railway line and the canal was now fairly open. 
On the right side of the line the damage had not 
been so considerable; still, even on that side fully 
fifty per cent of the houses were roofless. As far 
as a limited view from the railway would allow me 
to judge, I do not think the upper part of the town 
was much knocked about. Most of the German 
shelling on the 23rd had been directed on the British 
positions along the canal, and any damage that was 



202 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

done in the town itself was probably caused by the 
British guns' attempt to check the German advance 
through the town later in the afternoon. 

The lower part of the town of Mons reminded me 
of the streets of Pompeii. The silent ruins had been 
abandoned even by the German soldiers. Here and 
there some rough attempt had been made to provide 
shelter, and we passed a few miserable women and 
children who were standing grouped in the door- 
ways of their shattered homes. We entered the 
station of Mons at about 7 p.m. Here, as far as 
could be seen, everything seemed quite normal, and 
no traces were visible of the storm that must have 
raged all around during that eventful August day 
when British troops had paid their flying visit to 
the town. 

The platform side of the train was quite deserted, 
so I turned my attention to the other window, and 
was presently accosted by a German railway soldier. 
I at once surmised from his opening remark and 
evil-looking face that he was intent on "prisoner 
baiting." I naturally pretended not to understand, 
and he thereupon became most annoyed. The ex- 
pression of his humorous thought was that "the 
English were all going to Berlin, and the verdammte 
English would verdammt well stay there for ever." 
I shook my head and said "nicht verstehe." 

Then followed a sort of pantomime repetition of 
the same idea slowly spoken in simple words. Again 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 203 

I shook my head. Then a brilHant idea struck him : 
"Parlez voiis Frangais?" "Oiii," said I. But all the 
French he could muster consisted of "A Berlin." 
This was yelled out in a loud voice with great en- 
thusiasm. 

I then constructed a sentence in very bad German 
to the effect that our train was not going to Berlin 
but to Munich. This got rid of him, as he evidently 
thought it was hopeless to make the thick-headed 
Englander understand his subtle German humour, 
and off he went shouting "A Berlin, A Berlin !" 

The fat N.C.O. who had been standing in the 
corridor during this interview now came into the 
carriage, and I asked him if there was any dinner 
going, and was told that it would be brought along 
presently. It was not long before a party of sol- 
diers appeared carrying two dixies of soup, a plate- 
ful of which was handed up. 

It was thin vegetable soup, tasteless and stone 
cold. This was the "dinner from a restaurant car" 
that Dr. Schmidt had told me about! My appetite 
would not rise to more than a spoonful of it, and I 
do not think even Oliver Twist would have asked 
for more. Fortunately my kind French friend at 
Cambrai had provided me with a parcel of food, and 
I thought the time had come to take stock of its 
contents. I asked my corpulent attendant to reach 
me down the parcel, in which I found several "petit 
pains," some ham, and a large lengthy German 
sausage, upon which, as it rolled out of the paper. 



204 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

my guardian cast a swift but appreciative eye. I 
thought it might be a good idea to try and bribe 
him into a good temper, and ventured to ask for the 
loan of a knife! My request having been complied 
with, I sheared off a large piece of the sausage and 
stuck it on the end of the knife as I handed it back 
to its owner. 

A grateful grunt showed that my offering to the 
stomach had found a weak spot in the enemy's 
armour, and from that moment we were compara- 
tively friendly. After I had eaten some bread and 
ham I asked for something to drink, and was told 
that nothing was to be had except the thin cold soup. 
I had saved one or two cheap cigars from the hos- 
pital, and I settled down as best I could to smoke 
one of them. 

I have forgotten to mention that there was a 
Red Cross attendant on the train, whose occupation 
consisted in slouching in the corridor and staring 
out of the window. He was a short, thick-set man, 
one of the dirtiest-looking I have ever seen in uni- 
form. He wore a once white linen overall and a 
Red Cross badge on his arm. I do not know if he 
was qualified for Red Cross work, as he made no 
attempt or offer to help me or any of the other 
wounded men. Shortly after leaving Mons I began 
to feel symptoms of a bad headache coming on, and 
so I asked my guardian if there was a doctor on 
the train and if he could give me some aspirin. My 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 205 

request was passed on to the Red Cross attendant, 
who said he would go and ask the doctor. 

It was now dark, and the train stopped at many 
small stations, at each of which numbers of soldiers 
were billeted. Some of them always came up to 
my carriage to show off their knowledge of Eng- 
lish. One or two of them were very rude, but the 
majority were merely interested and addressed me 
quite politely, sometimes in fluent English. One 
man I remember, who spoke just like an English- 
man, said that he had been twelve years in England 
with a German band and knew all the coast towns. 
This fellow said he was very sorry "that England 
had made this War," as no Germans would like to 
go back there any more. 

At several stations other German bandsmen spoke 
to me out of the darkness, and sometimes they 
climbed up on to the footboard and attempted to 
enter into discussions as to who started the War. 
England, of course, was declared to be the aggressor 
and originator of all the trouble, and some surprise 
mingled with hatred was expressed at her action 
in thus attacking, for no apparent reason, a p-^cific 
industrial country like Germany. Of course I was 
not in a position to argue the point, and generally 
contented myself with asking whether they thought 
we had prepared an Expeditionary Force of 70,000 
men to attack 7,000,000 Germans. 

These men belonged for the most part to the 



2o6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Landsturm, and one of them told me they had been 
in billets for over two months. They seemed quite 
cheerful at the prospect of going nearer the firing 
line. 

Conscription is, from the Germans' point of view, 
simply organised patriotism, although ignorant 
opponents of National Service are fond of sneering 
at the German conscript and assert that he will only 
fight when forced on with revolvers. I wish that 
some of our stay-at-home sneerers could have seen 
these crowds of German conscripts and heard the 
singing and laughter. If cheerfulness be one of 
the first qualities of a soldier, these people possessed 
it to a very high degree. 

At one station a soldier who was, I think, rather 
full of beer, hung on to the footboard outside my 
window and attempted to be offensive in a mixture 
of German and English, His peroration was com- 
ing to an end as the train began to move, but he 
clung on and delivered his final shaft: ''England is 
the enemy and will be punished." However, his 
own punishment was near at hand, for when he 
attempted to jump off the train, which was running 
fairly fast, he made a false step and fell heavily on 
the back of his head, and, as it seemed to me, right 
under the wheels of the train. 

My sentry, who under the influence of sausage 
had become quite communicative, remarked that 
the man was drunk and deserved all he got. 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 207 

Symptoms were now developing of a serious 
headache such as I had experienced once before 
in hospital. On asking the Red Cross attendant if 
he had taken my message to the doctor, I was told 
that it would have to wait till the next stop, and by 
the time we got to Charleroi I was in the fast grip 
of an acute neuralgic attack. 

Entrance to the platform at Charleroi had evi- 
dently been verboten, for there was no one on the 
platform, although a great crowd of soldiers could 
be seen at the far end of the station, which was 
brilliantly lighted with electric arc lamps. 

I again asked my sentry to get me some relief. 
He was quite sympathetic, and I think began to 
realise that I was getting rather bad. He told me 
that the Red Cross attendant had gone to the doctor 
and would be back before long. The very great 
pain was made worse by the knowledge that the two 
or three tablets of aspirin, for which I had waited 
so long, would afford instant relief. At last the 
Red Cross attendant came along the corridor and 
made some sign to the sentry, who went out to speak 
to him. They talked for a long time, and seemed 
to be arguing about something. Every minute was 
more painful than the last, and then, to my relief. 
the sentry came back. I stretched out my hand fo** 
the aspirin. "Nichts," he said, ''the doctor sends 3. 
message — 'tell the Englishman not to smoke cigars 
and he will not have a headache.' '* 



2o8 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Looking back now on this incident I am inclined 
to acquit the German doctor of all blame, although 
at the time I was full of wrath at what I supposed 
to be callous indifference and cruelty, surprising 
even in a German member of the medical profession. 
The most likely explanation is that the dirty Red 
Cross attendant had never taken my message to the 
doctor at all. 

The only thing now was to get some sleep while 
the train was at rest, as I knew that when the jolting 
began again sleep would be quite impossible. 

My desire for rest was not, however, to be satis- 
fied, for the sentry leant out of the window on my 
side of the carriage and started a conversation with 
somebody on the platform. I was surprised to hear 
that he was talking to a woman, and on looking 
up to see who it was, a pleasant voice bade me 
"Good-evening" in perfect English. 

A pretty, young Red Cross nurse stood there at 
the window. The sight of her, the kindness with 
which she spoke, the sympathetic look, were for a 
moment as unreal to me as the memory of a dream. 
"Is there anything I can do for you?" she said; "I 
hope you are not very badly wounded.'* As soon 
as she knew of m} headache she went running along 
the train, and was back almost at once with three 
large tablets of aspirin. "I am so glad to be able 
to help you," she said ; "I promised my friends in 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 209 

England that I would do all in my power to help 
the poor English wounded." 

I could not find words to thank her then, and I 
cannot find them now. Never did I need kindness 
more, and never was a kind deed more kindly done. 

Before the train started off again the good sister 
came back to ask how 1 was feeling, and wished me 
well on my journey. 

The relief to the pain was almost immediate, and 
in spite of the renewed joltings, and the hard bed 
which afforded small comfort to a semi-paralysed 
man, I slept soundly for the rest of the night. 



II 



The day had not long dawned when I awoke so 
cramped and stiff that I could hardly move, but still 
refreshed by much-needed sleep, and al)ove all free 
of the previous night's headache. My sentry, who 
had also slept well, was good enough to ask how I 
felt, and said we were going to Aachen, but he could 
not or would not say if this was to be our ultimate 
destination. 

We reached Aachen about 8.30, and a more mis- 
erable morning could not be imagined. It had evi- 
dently rained hard all night, and the downpour 
showed no signs of abating. 

Looking out at the pretty little town half hidden 



2IO WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

in the mist that hung over the wooded hills, I was 
wondering if this was to be our journey's end, when 
I saw what looked like two British officers walking 
along the station road. There was no mistake about 
the British warm coats! Of course they were Ger- 
mans, who doubtless found the British uniform 
more suited than their own to the steadily drenching 
rain. 

Our journey was not, however, to finish here, for 
soon the sentry, who had been standing in the cor- 
ridor, came back and said that we had to change 
and get into another train. 

When lifted down on to the platform I was too 
stiff to walk even with the crutches, and had to be 
taken across the station on a stretcher. There were 
several other stretcher cases — about ten or twelve — 
but the majority managed to hobble along by them- 
selves. 

We were a most miserable-looking party; all the 
men, both British and French, were dressed in 
French uniforms, and one or two, whom I spoke 
to, said that they had had no food since leaving 
Cambrai. 

The train into which we were now being packed 
was of a more antiquated type than the one we had 
left. A very narrow corridor ran down the centre 
of the coach, the narrow wooden seats on each side 
being made to hold four people. It was with great 
difficulty that I crawled along the corridor through 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 211 

the crowd of wounded soldiers, mostly French, who, 
too miserable, too hungry and too cold for speech, 
were trying to huddle together as well as their 
wounded condition would allow. 

The corridor led into a carriage with four very 
narrow wooden seats, which were occupied by four 
British soldiers and one stout sentry. This was 
to be my accommodation for the rest of the journey. 
I pointed out to my sentry, who had followed me 
from the other train, that it was impossible for me 
to travel otherwise than lying down, and that even 
for able-bodied passengers the carriage was over- 
crowded. Also I demanded anew to be allowed to 
travel with the French doctor, whom I now saw 
being escorted along the platform to the rear end 
of the train. My protest was of no avail, and on 
inquiring who was the officer in charge of the train, 
I was told it was the doctor who had refused the 
aspirin, so concluded that further expostulation 
would be useless. My luggage, consisting of a small 
canvas portmanteau and a brown paper parcel with 
the sausage, &c., was now brought along, and took 
up what small space remained in the carriage. 

We were now five wounded men and two very 
corpulent sentries, and the problem of how to divide 
the available space presented some difficulty. 

Two of the men, like myself, were unable to travel 
in a sitting position. We had four seats, one of 
which was more than occupied by the two sentries. 



212 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

The other three had to be given to those who could 
not sit up, and so the remaining two men had to lie 
on the hard floor. 

Although all these men had been very severely 
wounded, and were still in great pain, they had no 
thought for themselves, but insisted upon doing 
everything that they could to settle me as comfort- 
ably as possible. My bag was put at the end of a 
corner seat, and, making a pillow with my great- 
coat, I was able to get into a half sitting, half lying, 
and by no means comfortable position, but the best 
that could be done under the circumstances. 

A British Tommy's cheerfulness is irrepressible. 
The knocking about may have been severe, the 
situation may be desperate, and the outlook depress- 
ing, but you will nearly always find the British sol- 
dier cheerful in spite of all. 

I remember an old monastic exhortation written 
in the eighth century entitled, "De octo principalibus 
vitiis," where sadness is bracketed along with pride, 
covetousness, lust, and the other familiar vices, 
while cheerfulness is placed high on the list of vir- 
tues. I can now appreciate the old monks' valuation 
of cheerfulness, and for the lesson I have to thank 
those wounded soldiers in the railway carriage at 
Aachen. 

They were as cheery as soldiers on furlough. For 
nearly four hours the train waited just outside the 
dripping station, and we spent most of the time 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 213 

laughing ! In fact, we were so hilarious that I think 
our sentries got suspicious; at any rate they were 
considerably bewildered at our strange conduct. 
We none of us had much to laugh at. The most 
helpless man in our carriage was a young fellow of 
nineteen in the K.O.S.B.'s, whose leg had been 
broken just above the shin, and a piece of the bone 
knocked away. This man was subsequently ex- 
changed, and we journeyed home to England to- 
gether. Two other men had bullet wounds in the 
thigh which were still septic; and the fourth, an 
Irishman from Carlow, had been very badly 
wounded in the face, having lost the sight of one 
eye, was also deaf in one ear and shockingly dis- 
figured. 

The rain still poured heavily down, and we were 
still, at 12.30 P.M., outside Aachen station. 

At last a man who looked like a soldier of high 
rank, but was merely the station-master, came in, 
escorted by a German private, to count us. He 
informed our sentries that we were about to start 
for Mainz, and before going out the German soldier 
snatched the French kepi from the disfigured Irish- 
man and gave him his German round soft cap in 
exchange. It is a cheap and very common method 
of obtaining a war trophy. 

It was now time to make inquiries about lunch, 
and we were told we would get nothing till we got 
to Mainz at seven o'clock. 



214 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Every one of us had been supplied by the kind 
French people at Cambrai with bread and cold meat, 
chocolate and biscuits, so that we were able to make 
quite a decent meal. Still I made a point of always 
asking the Germans for food before using our own. 
It was with the greatest difficulty that we at last 
got something to drink. Our sentries did not show 
any ill-feeling, and it was not their fault that 
nothing was given us ; it was simply that no arrange- 
ments had been made. At about four in the after- 
noon we each got a cup of what was meant for tea, 
and this was the first liquid we had had since the 
previous morning. 

The sentries were provided with coffee and sand- 
wiches at every station, which was always brought 
to the carriage by women dressed in uniform. They 
belonged to an association which has been formed 
for the purpose of supplying soldiers on transport 
duty with hot drinks. 

I incjuired of one of these ladies if there was not 
an association for supplying prisoners of war with 
food and drink, and was rewarded with a solemn 
serious negative. 

The train did not get on very fast, and we stopped 
a good many times just outside the stations — waits 
lasting sometimes over an hour. Although the 
amount of data regarding the internal conditions 
of a country which can be obtained from a car- 
riage window on a journey such as we were making 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 215 

is certainly not extensive, still I noted a good many 
interesting points. 

Civilians, of course, were few and far between. 
At the stations and in the public places, and as far 
as I could see in the streets, nearly all were in uni- 
form, young and old. Some of the older men wore 
very quaint-looking garments. I have seen more 
civilians on the platform of one English country 
station than I saw at all the German stations together 
between Cambrai and Wiirzburg. 

Railway work, such as unloading coal, &c., from 
the trucks, was being done by I)oys of twelve to 
fifteen, working in gangs of about six, doing the 
work of two or three men. All the railway engine- 
drivers and employees I saw were men obviously 
above military age. 

The stations are all under military control, and 
transport work is carried on by soldiers. 

Troop trains passed incessantly. The men^ who 
I should say were about twenty years old, were 
cheerful and always singing, just like our own 
troops are fond of doing, only the Germans sing 
much better! They shouted out greetings to the 
wounded Germans on our train, and looked with 
curiosity at the French and British soldiers. When 
the troop train happened to draw up opposite us, 
sometimes a fist would be shaken in the air, accom- 
panied by what sounded like very bad language. 
But the general spirit shown by these young Ger- 



2i6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

man troops towards our train-load of wounded pris- 
oners was that of contempt and pity of victors for 
the vanquished. The men were splendidly equipped, 
and many regiments carried a long spade strapped 
on to the back of their kit, the iron head stretching 
high above the helmet. I remember starting to 
count the troop trains, but I cannot find any note of 
the number in my diary. I should put the number 
w^e saw in one day at from fifteen to twenty. 

In the public squares of the smaller towns, and 
even outside some of the country villages, groups 
of youths, almost children, were being put through 
elementary military exercises. 

The train stopped at one small countryside sta- 
tion, and I got a very good view of some German 
troops having a field-day. They were preparing to 
advance on the village through some woods, and 
the sight reminded me of the German attacks on our 
trenches at Mons. 

Nothing that I could observ^e from my carriage 
window spoke more eloquently of the efforts Ger- 
many was making than the goods traffic which 
passed along the line or lay shunted at the stations. 

The very trucks themselves were eloquent of war 
and of Germany's success in war. Belgian rolling 
stock was very much in evidence, and it was de- 
pressing to see the well-known French vans with 
the inscription, "hommes 40, chevaux 12," familiar 
to all who have travelled in France. There were 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 217 

also a few strange-looking waggons, either Russian 
or Polish. 

Nearly all the goods trains were carrying war 
material. Long trains were standing on the sidings 
with Red Cross ambulances on every truck. 

We passed countless numbers of trains loaded 
with broad wooden planks and stout larch poles, 
doubtless intended for the erection of earthworks. 
Most instructive was the sight of one long train 
of about thirty trucks loaded with private motor- 
cars of all sorts and sizes, which had been hurriedly 
painted with grey stripes and some sort of notice 
indicating Government service. Once we passed 
a train with heavy artillery on specially constructed 
waggons, and we saw several trains of ordinary 
field artillery. These trains of troops, munitions, 
motor-cars, coal, and a hundred other weapons of 
war that were hidden from view, the whole method- 
ical procession of supplies to the Front, were most 
suggestive of power, of concentration, and organisa- 
tion of effort. Most impressive was this glimpse of 
Germany at war. It is difficult to convey the im- 
pression to those who have not seen Germany in a 
state of war. Men who have been at the Front see 
little of the power which is behind the machine 
against which they are fighting. 

I do not think many people in this country, even 
in high places, have yet understood how great, as to 



2i8 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

be almost invincible, are the military and industrial 
resources of Germany. 

The strength given by unity of purpose, by self- 
sacrifice of individual to national requirements, by 
organisation of disciplined masses, is the strength of 
Germany, behind which is the all-prevailing spirit 
of the motto, "Deutschland iiber Alles," the Father- 
land above all things, and before all things. The 
end justifying the means in the name of a perverted 
patriotism, whose end is self-glorification, whose 
means include among other horrors the murder of 
an innocent and defenceless civilian population. 

This German patriotism, a monstrous caricature 
of the noblest of virtues, is the only ideal which the 
brutal materialism of Prussia can still pretend to 
claim for its own. 

Chivalry, honour, and a fair name, the ideals for 
which men wall cheerfully die, Germany has de- 
stroyed and buried in the wreckage of Belgian home- 
steads. 

In my carriage-window conversations with Ger- 
man soldiers, to whom it might have been dangerous 
to express myself as frankly as I have just done 
here, I always felt that I was dealing with people 
possessea by an "idee fixe." Evil, as long as it was 
German evil, was right. 

Pride has brought these people to believe that 
all law, religious and ethical, should be subservient 
to the interests of the Fatherland. The German 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 219 

pride is something quite apart from the common 
conceit with which all men and all nations are 
afflicted, for the foolish British bumptiousness, 
which of late years has not been so much in evidence, 
due to ignorance and want of intercourse with Con- 
tinental nations, does not strike deep enough into the 
national character to affect the moral sanity of the 
race. But German pride working through several 
generations has apparently destroyed all sense of 
right and wrong. It has become, therefore, impos- 
sible to convince the German people of wrong-doing. 

I once ventured to say, in answer to one man 
who was very indignant with "England's treachery" 
(he was a kultured man and addressed me as a 
"hireling of La Perfide Albion"), that at any rate 
we had not invaded Belgium in breach of a solemn 
treaty. I fully expected to be chastised for my 
boldness, but my remark did not arouse any indig- 
nation. I was told quite simply that "even if there 
was any truth in my statement the necessity of 
Germany was supreme and above all." 

Deutschland iiber Alles. 

At most of the stations we stopped at, men used 
to come into our carriage out of curiosity ; some of 
them were rude and insulting, but very often they 
were eager to enter into conversation. 

At one place an Unterofficier, who understood a 
little English but did not speak it, kept on repeating 
in German that England had made the War and 



220 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

tried to catch Germany unprepared, and that we 
were mobilised for war in July. I did not answer 
him, but turned round to the wounded soldier next 
me and said to him, "When did you mobilise ?" All 
the men answered in chorus, "On the 5th August." 
"I don't know when you Germans mobilised," I 
said, "but you were fighting in Belgium on the day 
we mobilised." 

In most of their conversations the question of 
who was going to win was not raised, for the Ger- 
mans consider that they have won already, and they 
have no fears of being unable to maintain the terri- 
tory they have conquered. 

The prevailing sentiment towards England was 
contemptuous. I remember some soldiers at one 
place reading the news to my sentry out of a Ger- 
man paper, and one of the items was "Kitchener 
has organised an army of one million men." This 
statement caused considerable laughter, and when 
the sentry returned to our carriage I asked him 
where the joke lay. England, he then explained, 
for years had employed a small number of paid 
men to do whatever fighting was needed, and the 
nation could not now be drilled and made soldiers 
of, as they were not animated by the martial, manly 
spirit of Germany, and those few that did volun- 
teer — he used the word with contempt — would re- 
quire at least a year's training. 

From such conversations as these, and from 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 221 

reading the German papers, I am convinced that 
the strongest ground of confidence the Germans 
possess is their contempt of England's miHtary 
power. The Germans know far better than we do 
the weakness of our voluntary system. They know 
that if the full power of the British Empire was 
brought against them, defeat would in the long-run 
be inevitable. But they believe, and I think rightly 
believe, that this can never come to pass without 
organisation and discipline of the whole country. 
No disaster to the German arms on the field of battle 
would have an efifect on the morale of the German 
people such as would result from the knowledge 
that the English had recognised the principle of 
National Service. 

But as long as England remains *'le pays des 
embusques," German opinion will not be influenced 
by speeches on England's firm determination made 
in Parliament or leaders written in our morning 
papers : Germany knows that grim determination is 
shown not in words, but in deeds. 

The day when England consents to the great 
sacrifice and faces the stern discipline of conscrip- 
tion, the present unshakable confidence of the Ger- 
man people will be changed into apprehensive 
despair. 

I have interrupted the thread of my story to 
reply to those people who keep on telling us that 
we have done splendidly, that no one else could 



1122 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

have done what we have done ; that our voluntary 
army of one or two or three milHon men, what- 
ever it may be, is the most wonderful creation of 
all history; and so on to the Navy and its great 
deeds. The litany of praise is familiar to all, and 
a good deal of it is true. 

But the point to be considered is not what we 
have done, but what we have left undone, since 
nothing less will suffice than the maximum possible 
effort. 

Ill 

I forgot to mention that either at Mons or 
Charleroi, I am not sure which, a sheet of paper 
containing all the latest war news, some printed 
in English and some in French, was handed to all 
the prisoners on the train. I have kept this inter- 
esting document, the heading of which is as fol- 
lows : "A short account of facts from Official Ger- 
man and Foreign War Reports. 'This english 
\^sic\ is also published in German and Spanish.' 
Free of charge from the Pul)lisher, Mrs. von Putt- 
kamer, Hamburg, Paulstrasse 9/1 1." 

This sheet, which purports to contain the war 
news for November, is evidently a monthly con- 
coction. I append some extracts : — 

t^ov. I. "Turkey declares the 'holy War.' 2000 
armed Bedouins attack Egypt. As a result 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 223 

of bad treatment 17 Germans die in the 
English Concentration Camp at Farmley." 

Nov. 5. "Field-Marshal French meets with a bad 
accident. Conquered English cannons placed 
for exhibition before the Hamburg Town 
Hall, amidst the plaudits of the people." 

Nov. 6. "As a counter measure all Englishmen in 
Germany between the ages of 17 and 55 in- 
terned at Ruhleben by Berlin." 

Then follows a long list of German victories on 
all fronts, with just a passing reference to the loss 
of the Emden and the fall of Tsingtau. 

Nov. 15. "Storm of indignation from all Moham- 
medens over the English attack against 
Akaba, the Holy City of Islam. Lord Rob- 
erts dies in London at age of 82." 

Nov. 17. "As a result of German submarines in the 
channel no more English transport of troops 
takes place." 

Nov. 18. "The Times says that it is becoming clear- 
er every day to prominent patriots of Ger- 
many, that it is not possible to beat England. 
*As I also belong to the leading men men- 
tioned, I attach great importance to it, to 
prove well founded the fact that, in my 
opinion, England is already beaten, as an 
England that hides its fleet in such a war as 
this, and does not venture to sea, has ceased 
to be the England of old. It has once for all 
renounced its right to speak when a question 
of the European balance of power is dealt 
with.'— Ballin." 



224 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Nov. 22. "Successful fight of the Turks against 
English and Russians at Schotel-Arab. 750 
English troops killed and 1000 wounded. 
The Turks reach the Suez Canal." 

Nov. 25. "The Turks controll [sic^ the Suez Canal 
at Kantara." 

The total number of prisoners claimed to have 
been captured in the month of November works 
out at 268,508, and on one single day, the 14th 
Nov., 10,000 guns and a quantity of ammunition 
were taken as booty. 

Mrs. von Puttkamer must have taken consider- 
able trouble with this singular document, and I 
cannot understand with what object it was dis- 
tributed broadcast among the prisoners. The only 
result of reading such an obviously biassed account 
of the war was that, as we had no means of dis- 
criminating between what was true and what was 
false, we did not pay the least attention to any of it. 

The three wounded men who had been over four 
months in bed, and whose wounds were not yet 
healed, were now suffering a great deal of pain 
from the cramped position, the jolting of the train, 
and from want of nourishing food. They had 
tried to get some relief l)y lying on the floor of the 
carriage, where they finally settled together in a 
heap. 

The sentry, with whom I was by this time on 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 225 

the best of terms, began to grow sentimental at 
the thought of meeting his wife and children, with 
whom he was to spend a week's leave in the neigh- 
bourhood of Coblenz. I tried to find out if he had 
heard of any talk about a proposed exchange of 
prisoners, but he could not or would not give me 
any information. 

Light was failing as we reached the Rhine valley. 
The train crawled slowly under the shadow of the 
vine-covered cliffs, far to the west the rain-clouds 
were drifting away as if driven by the last rays 
of the setting sun, which they had hidden during 
the day. We had no light in the carriage, and the 
blackness of the interior darkness was relieved only 
by the twinkling lights on the distant banks of the 
Rhine. By the time the train reached Coblenz the 
wounded men, though not asleep, were in a condi- 
tion of dormant torpor, while the sentries slept 
heavily, dreaming, no doubt, of their soon-once- 
more-to-be-met buxom fraus. 

At Coblenz most of the German wounded who 
had started with us from Cambrai came to their 
journey's end, and the station was crowded with 
Red Cross people who had come to meet them. 
There were no serious cases, nearly all arms and a 
few superficial head wounds. Here also we saw the 
last of our two fat sentries, and their place was 
taken by two men who belonged to some very 
antiquated sort of Bavarian Landsturm, harmless, 



226 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

inoffensive creatures both of them. They actually 
put their rifles up on the rack, whereas the other 
sentries had clung tight to theirs on the whole 
journey from Cambrai. We immediately got per- 
mission to smoke, which had been refused us before, 
and I again made inquiries about food and drink 
with the usual result. No arrangements had been 
made for feeding prisoners, and as our own stock 
of food was getting low an effort had to be made to 
get something done. 

It was not long before the doctor in charge of 
the Coblenz ambulance, tall and thin, with a black 
beard, came along inspecting the wounded. He 
asked if there were any men who required to have 
their wounds dressed, explaining that we would 
get to our destination the next day, and he would 
not dress any one except if absolutely necessary. 

The men said they preferred to wait, and I then 
pointed out to the doctor that the accommodation 
for five badly wounded men was insufficient, so 
that they had to lie on top of each other on the 
floor, and that we had been given practically no 
food since we left Cambrai. 

The doctor answered that no other accommoda- 
tion was available, and he expressed some indigna- 
tion at our not having had any food, promising to 
send some along at once. We got some nice hot 
coffee, a large piece of German black bread, with a 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 227 

roll and sausage each, and made our first meal at 
German expense. 

After the train started on again the big sentry, 
who looked rather like a Scotch Highlander, and 
came no doubt from the mountain forests of Bava- 
ria, produced a couple of night-lights, with whose 
slender flickering the carriage was dimly lit up. 

Our new sentries had no idea of discipline or 
duty whatever. They seemed to look upon them- 
selves as showmen travelling with a collection of 
curious beasts, for at every station where we 
stopped people took it in turns to come right into 
the carriage, and we met with considerable annoy- 
ance and impertinence from many of them. One 
German, who said he was shortly going to the front 
to kill some Englander, tried to drag my greatcoat 
from me, but this was too much for the sentry, who 
ordered him to desist. 

Owing to the constant entry of these unwelcome 
visitors it now became impossible to think of sleep, 
for whenever I tried or pretended to doze I was 
pulled up and asked to answer some impertinent 
questions. 

The type of German soldier that now began to 
predominate was of a far different class to what we 
had met with before. It is probable that the men 
we had conversed with between Cambrai and Co- 
blenz had been to a certain extent tamed by experi- 
ence at the front, whereas the older and more 



228 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

ignorant class of Landsturm, who at every station 
forced their attentions upon us, spoke to us and 
about us as if we were dangerous criminals, and on 
several occasions if it had not been for the sentries 
we would have been roughly handled. 

It was at Aschaffenburg, on the Bavarian fron- 
tier, that we had occasion to he really alarmed at 
the hostile attitude of the crowd on the station 
platform. 

We reached Aschaffenburg at three in the morn- 
ing, and were informed that we w^ere to stop there 
for five hours. There was nothing for it but to try 
and get some sleep; this, however, was not to be 
allowed. A curious-looking mob of men dressed in 
bits of all uniforms collected outside our carriage 
and proceeded to go through a pantomimic exhibi- 
tion of hate. The leader of this mob was a nasty- 
looking ruffian, more than half drunk, who kept 
calling on us to come outside and fight ; also threat- 
ening to come inside and cut our throats, and 
brandishing a big pocket-knife, he looked quite up 
to doing it. However, the mob, which was getting 
m.ore and more excited, was eventually dispersed by 
an officer, who rebuked them for insulting men who 
were defenceless and disabled. 

After the dispersal of this collection of ruffians, 
who looked as if they had stepped off the stage of 
a comic opera, we still continued to be plagued by a 
constant stream of visitors. One group of these 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 229 

soldiers came in about five in the morning and be- 
haved with great rudeness and brutality. The 
wounded m.en had by this time settled on to the 
floor of the carriage, all in a heap, and had fallen 
off to sleep. 

The sentry was telling our visitors that one of 
the Englander had been shot in the face and was 
badly disfigured; whereupon a German soldier 
pulled the poor fellow out of the sleeping mass on 
the floor and sat him upon the seat, the others 
standing round pointing with their fingers at the 
poor mutilated face with coarse jeering laughter. 
The young Irish soldier sat patiently through it all 
—his blind eye was a running sore, the torn cheek 
' in healing had left a hideously scarred hollow, and 
the mouth and nose were twisted to one side. His 
condition would have stirred pity in the heart of a 
savage, and yet these Germans laughed and jeered. 
This scene comes back to me with a fresh bitter- 
ness when I see the able-bodied young civilians in 
this country— they must number several millions — 
who should be ashamed to be seen alive until the 
perpetrators of deeds such as these have been 
brought to account. 

This poor fellow came from County Carlow. Is 
there a man in Carlow or in all Ireland who could 
have witnessed this scene unmoved? 

So much stronger is the impression of things seen 
than things heard that, although T have second- 



230 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

hand evidence of far worse horrors — of wounded 
men shot, of men of a well-known regiment kicked 
and beaten along the road to a German prison — 
none of these things, no atrocity of Louvain, no 
story of women and children tortured, has moved 
me so much to a deep loathing of Germany as the 
pathetic sight of this young Irishman and his heart- 
less tormentors. 

Reading this morning's Times, I find that Mr. T. 
P. O'Connor used in the House of Commons the 
following words : "The Irish people have a loathing 
of the very name of conscription." I have no 
means of ascertaining how far this be true, but 
whether true or not, I know that if the Irish people 
could see this war as it really is, as the Germans 
have made it, there is scarcely a man throughout 
the length and breadth of Ireland who would not 
make any sacrifice in order that such horror should 
be avenged. 

From three to half-past eight we had waited at 
Aschaffenburg subjected to a continuous round of 
insult, painfully cramped on the hard benches, and 
half frozen with the cold of a frosty January morn- 
ing, so that it was a relief when the train at last 
moved on. 

Our route now lay through the beautifully 
wooded hills of the Bavarian Highlands, and the 
countryside reminded me in many ways of Spey- 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 231 

side. The air blowing from the spruce woods was 
most refreshing, and in spite of the cold we were 
glad to have the pale winter sunshine streaming in 
through the open windows. 

Our train was now reduced to two coaches, which 
had been hitched on to a local country train, and so 
we advanced more slowly than ever, and stopped at 
the very smallest stations. We seemed at last to 
be getting away from the omnipresent German sol- 
dier, for the wild-looking country through which 
we were passing did not look as if there had ever 
been any inhabitants, and on the station platforms 
an occasional soldier on leave was the only reminder 
of war that could be seen. 

The sentries, perhaps relieved at being in their 
native wilds, became quite talkative, and we were 
soon on most friendly terms. As no breakfast was 
to be hoped for from any of the stations, we agreed 
to pool what provisions we could get together be- 
tween us. I had nothing but half of my German 
sausage, the other men had some bread, and the 
sentries produced two bottles of cold coffee, so we 
were all able to make quite a good meal. 

This surprising atmosphere of cordiality was 
marred by a visit of inspection. A very shabby 
Unterofficier suddenly opened the door leading into 
the corridor, and proceeded to pour a volume of 
abuse on us all, finally settling upon me as being the 



232 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

only representative of the enemy who seemed to 
understand what it was all about. 

I did not indeed understand very much, but could 
gather ihat the substance of his complaints was 
that we were too comfortable, and should have been 
travelling in a truck! After this excited individual 
had passed away, I asked the sentries what all the 
discourse was about, and they said that the fellow 
enjoyed getting a chance to scold somebody, as he 
was constantly in trouble with his superior officer, 
and got more than the usual share of slanging that 
falls to the lot of the German soldier. 

On leaving Aschaffenburg we had been definitely 
assured that our destination was Nuremburg, and 
for that reason, when at about ii o'clock the train 
entered the picturesque valley of the River Main, on 
the banks of which the town of Wiirzburg is situ- 
ated, I little thought that here was the end of our 
journey, and here was to be our future prison home. 

Hardly had we drawn up at the station when it 
became obvious that our destination had been 
reached. 

A number of Red Cross officials were on the 
platform, which was lined with stretchers. There 
was no time for more than a hurried farewell, but 
before leaving the carriage the young Irishman, 
whose name was Patrick Flynn, begged me to accept 
the only thing he had to give me as a souvenir, and 
pressed into my hand a Belgian five-centime nickel 



CAMBRAI TO WURZBURG 233 

coin, which I shall always keep in remembrance of 
the unselfish kindness with which these poor 
wounded soldiers treated me on our long and pain- 
ful journey. 



CHAPTER VII 



WURZBURG 



"Turbatus est a furore oculus meus ; inveteravi inter omnes 
inimicos meus." — Psalm vi. 8. 



On our arrival at Wiirzburg, before leaving the 
railway carriage, all the soldiers except myself 
were handed a slip of coloured paper marked 
"Hiitte Barracken No. 14." A most unpleasant- 
looking person, who spoke a little English, and 
wore a very superior air, was in command of the 
stretcher-party that carried me across the station. 
I kept asking for my luggage, a hand-bag and a 
fragment of the German sausage which had been 
left in the carriage, and was told it would follow 
later, and meantime was, like myself, safe in good 
German hands. However, my valuable belongings 
were eventually put on the stretcher beside me. 
While waiting on the platform my English-speak- 
ing attendant volunteered the information that 
there were already over 200 British officers in the 
place. This was lying for lying's sake, or perhaps 
it was a lie told to the wrong person, and should 
have been reserved for the citizens of Wiirzburg. 

234 



WURZBURG 235 

Tlie morning was a bitterly cold one, and the ar- 
rangements made for our transport from the station 
gave us the full benefit of the freezing north-east- 
erly wind. The vehicle into which the stretchers 
were hfted does not deserve the name of ambulance, 
nor had it any pretension to the title, for it was 
not even honoured with a Red Cross. It was just 
a common lorry, such as is used in the district for 
carting wood, covered with a tarpaulin supported 
by a longitudinal bar on transverse stays. The 
tarpaulin, which had been rolled up on one side 
while the stretchers were being placed in position, 
was rolled down again. A German ambulance 
man jumped up behind and off we went. Each 
stretcher was provided with a blanket, which 
afforded some small protection from the cold blast 
which blew through the open end of the cart. 
None of the soldiers with whom I had travelled 
from France were in this cart, and at first I thought 
that all the occupants were Frenchmen. But the 
man next me was an Englishman, dressed in French 
uniform, who had been with me in hospital at 
Cambrai. His face was so drawn and haggard 
that I had some difficulty in recognising him. This 
poor fellow would not answer me at first, and then 
whispered that he did not want the German Red 
Cross attendant to know that he was an English- 
man, and hoped to pass for a Frenchman as long 
as possible, so as to get better treatment. The 



236 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

other Frenchmen lay silent and motionless, worn 
out with exhaustion and want of food. By slightly 
rising on my side, I could see following far behind 
us a long string of carts similar to our own. The 
wind, which was now chasing here and there some 
few fine drifting snow-flakes, had doubtless kept the 
streets clear of pedestrians, and there were few 
spectators of the dolorous procession. Some small 
boys fell in behind, and played at soldiers escorting 
a convoy, marching in step and singing in tune, only 
to be chased away presently by a watchful police- 
man. We crossed a stone bridge over the Main and 
almost immediately turned in, on our left, through 
the high wooden palisade which surrounded the 
hospital huts — our temporary destination. 

The tarpaulin was quickly rolled up, and my 
four companions lifted down on their stretchers 
and taken away. My stretcher was lifted on to the 
ground, and remained there for five or ten minutes, 
close to a group of officers, one of whom appeared 
very annoyed at my having been brought to the 
wrong place; he presently came up and politely 
asked me my name and rank in very good Eng- 
lish. This, I afterwards discovered, was Dr. 
Zinck. He told me that I was to be sent up to the 
fortress. I was helped ofif the stretcher, and, owing 
to the cold, had great difficulty in hobbling along, 
and was very relieved to find that I was to drive 
up to the castle in a comfortable motor coupe, 



WURZBURG 2^7 

probably the one used by the doctor himself. A 
hospital orderly got up beside the driver, and a 
very tall sentry, who had great difficulty in getting 
in his rifle with the bayonet fixed, squeezed in beside 
me. 

The Festung Marienberg, about a mile outside 
the city of Wiirzburg, is a place of great archi- 
tectural and historic interest. Previous to the days 
of heavy artillery, the hill on which the fortress is 
built provided a naturally impregnable site, which 
had been used for defensive purposes from the 
earliest times of which any historic trace has been 
recorded. When St. Kilian in the seventh century 
brought Christianity to Franconia from far lona, 
he was at first very successful at the "Castellum 
Virtebuch," and converted the Frankish com- 
mander. A few years later a chapel was built 
within the walls, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin 
Mary, and the fortress became known as Festung 
Marienberg. 

In the middle ages the castle was famous as a 
stronghold of the warrior bishops of Wiirzburg, 
and stood firm during the revolutionary periods 
which followed on the teachings of Huss and 
Luther, even when the surrounding country had 
been laid waste, and the town of Wiirzburg cap- 
tured by a rebel army. Once after the peasant 
army had been betrayed, surrounded, and almost 
annihilated, the unfortunate survivors were taken 



238 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

away to the Festung Marienberg. "Thirty-six of 
them," says a contemporary writer, "had their 
heads cut off, and the council and aldermen have 
been taken prisoners ; God only knows what will be 
done with them." It was a common punishment in 
those days for a prisoner to have his eyes gouged 
out, or his fingers chopped off. At the present time 
these somewhat barbaric customs have been con- 
siderably modified, and although the Rittmeister 
who was in command of the fortress during my 
residence there did not resort to such extreme meas- 
ures in dealing with his prisoners as had been found 
necessary in the sixteenth century by the Margrave 
of Brandenburg, he did his best, as I was soon to 
find out, to make us feel the burden of captivity. 

As the motor began to climb a rather steep 
gradient, the silent sentry, with a wave of his hand, 
introduced me to the outer battlements of the 
Festung Marienberg. Between this outer wall and 
the castle moat, the long steep slope on the west 
side has been laid out as a garden with shrubs and 
well-grown trees. "There," said my sentry, "is 
where the officers can make their daily promenade." 
This I need hardly say was not to be our privilege. 
The second wall is of great thickness, so that the 
entrance is like a tunnel, the gradient of the road 
being so steep as to bring the car down to the first 
speed. We cross a courtyard with stables on the 
three sides, and then pass through a third doorway, 



WURZBURG 239 

and drive over the moat into the main court of the 
castle. 

This inner court, of oblong shape, is some 60 to 
70 yards long and about 30 broad. 

On two sides were the soldiers' quarters, built in 
the middle of the eighteenth century. The ground 
floor on the left was used as a stable, and above 
the stables were the prisoners' rooms. A fifteenth- 
century chapel stands in the far corner on the site 
chosen by St. Kilian. An aggressive watch-tower 
dating from the eleventh century if not earlier, tall 
and massive, is the most interesting feature in the 
curious medley of architecture, which presents a 
graphic picture of the castle's history. 

The motor drew up at the far end of the court. 
I was then helped out of the car and formally 
handed over to a German N.C.O. named Poer- 
ringer, who had charge of the prisoners, collected 
their letters, &c., &c., — in fact he was our jailor. 

We entered the fortress buildings through a small 
doorway in one of the old towers, and the broad 
spiral stairway proved almost too much for my 
powers of locomotion. However, with a helping 
arm under each shoulder, they got me along. Half- 
way up the stair we turned through a door on our 
right, which led into a large and very medieval-look- 
ing guard-room, a long, low room faintly lit up by 
narrow windows deeply set in immensely thick 
walls. In one of these window recesses was a desk 



240 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

and chair barred off from the rest of the room with 
temporary wooden cross-bars. I was led into this 
cage, and told to sit down and wait to be inter- 
viewed by Mr. Poerringer. My luggage was 
brought up and put down beside me, and a sentry 
took his position near at hand. 

After a few minutes' rest I began to look around, 
and as my eyes got used to the dim light I saw my 
friend the French doctor sitting on a chair farther 
up the room within speaking distance. A thought- 
less Bonjour, Docteur, raised the wrath of the 
sentry, who turned in my direction and grunted out 
a sentence which ended in vcrbotcn. 

The guard-room then began to fill with soldiers; 
the loud tramping, the guttural words of com- 
mand, the curious antique unmilitary-looking uni- 
form, the crowd of squat, slouching, and for the 
most part bearded, round-bellied creatures, formed 
in the dim light a picture that might have belonged 
to a land of gnomes, wicked princes, and enchanted 
castles. 

Such at least was my first impression. Our 
middle-aged sentries in broad daylight were any- 
thing but romantic. Their uniform consisted of 
Hessian boots, civilian trousers, and dirty green 
jacket, and always a big black leather belt to keep in 
the rebellious stomach. They appeared most of them 
to be wood-cutters, charcoal-burners, workers in 
the beautiful forests of Franconia, who did not take 



WURZBURG 241 

kindly to the monotonous duty of guarding prison- 
ers, and to a discipline little less strict than that of 
the prisoners themselves. 

After the ceremony of changing the guard had 
been completed, and all arms had been examined 
to make sure they were loaded, Mr. Poerringer, 
who was in undress uniform, and did not go about 
with a ridiculous bayonet, came back with some 
papers which had to be filled in, and by virtue of 
which my official status as a prisoner would be 
completed. My luggage was examined courteously 
and as a matter of form. I was asked if I had any 
fountain-pens, maps, or fire-arms! concealed in my 
belongings. 

So far, conversation had been carried on in 
English, of which my jailor could speak but little. 

Before leaving Cambrai I had forgotten to look 
up the most commonly used German word for 
"paralysed," and the friendly Highland sentry in 
the train, whose German was no doubt not of the 
best, had told me that the correct word was "Gicht.'" 
I tried this word when explaining the cause of my 
lameness to Mr. Poerringer, and was much aston- 
ished at the result. "Is that all that is the matter?'' 
said he; "you will soon get cured here.'' Weary of 
trying to make myself understood, I protested 
somewhat impatiently in French that there was not 
much point in bringing a half -paralysed man into 
such a carefully-guarded prison. With a most 



242 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Parisian accent he replied : "Oh, vous etes paralyse, 
moi qui croyai que vous aviez la goutte!" 

We now, of course, got on very much quicker 
with the filling-in of papers. One entry, headed 
"Request to Prison Governors," I wished to fill up 
with a request to be sent back to England, accord- 
ing to rules laid down in the Hague Convention. 
Mr. Poerringer shook his head, and said there 
would be no exchanges until the war was over. 
My request for a room to myself, so that I could 
hope for sleep, was not passed, no such room being 
available, and the column was left a blank. In this 
first interview Mr. Poerringer was trying hard, 
probably under orders, to put on a fierceness of 
manner which was obviously quite foreign to his 
nature. I subsequently found that in dealing with 
the prisoners, both French and English, he always 
displayed a kindly courteousness which was strik- 
ingly in contrast with the behaviour of his superior 
officers. 

Still escorted by a watchful sentry armed to the 
teeth, I was assisted up the broad spiral staircase 
to the door leading into the prisoners' quarters. 
Mr. Poerringer pressed an electric bell, and yet 
another heavily-burdened warrior appeared who 
led us into a broad, stone-flagged, whitewashed 
corridor, well lit with large windows overlooking 
the courtyard, a cold inhospitable-looking place. A 
more welcome sight than any I had for a long time 



WURZBURG 243 

been accustomed to was that of two British officers 
hurrying forward to meet me, one of whom was 
Irvine, who had been with me in the Civil Hospital 
at Cambrai, and was much surprised to see me on 
my feet again. We all marched along to the room 
which had been allotted to me — the smallest of the 
five rooms which opened into the corridor, occupied 
by nine French officers, who were then seated at a 
long table enjoying their midday meal. My new- 
found British comrades introduced me to the senior 
officer, Colonel Lepeltier, who welcomed me with 
the greatest kindness, and offered me the best that 
could be supplied from their private store of food 
and drink, including a bottle of very excellent 
Bavarian beer, for which, after the exhaustion of 
the past few days, I felt most thankful. The room, 
which served as living and sleeping room for ten 
officers, was none too large. The furniture con- 
sisted of the large wooden dining-table, a small 
wooden table and chair for each officer, two wash- 
hand-stands, and two chests of drawers shared 
among the lot. We had, of course, no carpets, wall- 
paper, or curtains, and no facilities for getting hot 
water. Two windows looked out over the Main, 
between them a large and very efficient stove. I 
looked with apprehension at my "bed" — a wooden 
plank scarcely three feet broad, on iron trestles; at 
the "mattress" — a coarse linen sack open on one 
side, and stuffed with straw, renewed, I was told. 



244 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

once a month. The two EngHsh officers, Irvine 
and Reddy, with an EngHsh civilian, Parke, lived 
in a large room adjoining ours, along with ten 
French officers. Two other large barrack-rooms 
were also occupied by French officers, the total 
number in the fortress at the time being between 
forty and fifty. 

It was arranged that I should take my meals in 
the adjoining room, where the Englishmen had 
their three beds together in a corner known as "the 
English Club." On the day of my arrival the 
"Club" held a long sitting, which was attended by 
many of the French officers, eager to hear what 
news there might be from Cambrai. Time passed 
quickly that afternoon. Irvine had much to tell me, 
and many questions to ask about friends at Cam- 
brai, and Captain Reddy and Parke gave me an 
outline of their misfortunes. Reddy had been more 
unfortunate than any of us. He was travelling in 
Austria before the war broke out, and was arrested 
on his way home before war had actually been de- 
clared. Along with Parke and a number of 
British civilians, men and women, who were travel- 
ling in the same train, he was stopped at Aschafifen- 
burg and taken first to the police station and then 
to prison. The whole party were locked up in 
separate cells to be searched ; even children of eight 
or ten years were dragged screaming with terror 
from their mothers, and locked away by them- 



WURZBURG 245 

selves. I do not remember many details of the 
story, but Reddy and Parke told me that it was a 
very near thing for them both ; they were suspected 
and vehemently accused of being spies, of which 
baseless charge there was, of course, not the faintest 
shred of evidence. 

I was glad to learn that the austerity of our 
prison life was mitigated to some extent by per- 
mission to buy extras in the town. A list of com- 
missions was made up weekly, and might include 
jam, honey, cream-cheese, dried fruits, articles of 
toilet, and beer. Every prisoner was entitled at this 
time to write one letter a day. A hot bath was to 
be had once a month, prisoners being taken down 
in batches under strong escort to public baths at 
Wiirzburg. The doctor came once a week to see 
all who needed attention ; an occasional inspection, 
and a weekly visit from the hairdresser, completed 
the list of important events in the deadly dull 
routine. 

The food supplied by the authorities was, on the 

whole, of bad quality, badly cooked, and insufficient. 

Breakfast at 7 a.m. — A roll of potato bread, and 

a cup of tea, coffee, or milk. 
Lunch at 12.30 — Soup, which varied from day to 

day in colour but not in taste, or rather lack 

of taste. 

One dish of meat with cabbage and a potato. 

The meat was almost always pork, disguised 



246 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

in strange manner. Once a week we had 

"beef," very tough and quite uneatable. 

Probably horse-flesh. 
Dinner — Cold pork and cabbage, sometimes 

varied by scrambled eggs and salad. 
Lights out at lo. 



n 



The English Club usually spent the interval be- 
tween dinner and bed in a game of cards, but on 
this my first night I was too tired to make a fourth 
at bridge, and hobbled off to my own quarters 
under the severe gaze of three unfortunate sentries 
who had to spend most of the night marching up 
and down the cold clammy corridor. 

On arriving at "Room 52" the noisiest game of 
cards in the world, known as "La Manille," was in 
full swing, the air was thick with tobacco smoke, 
and empty bottles of beer stood in serried ranks on 
the table. Monsieur I'Abbe was playing with the 
Doctor against Colonel Lepeltier and another 
officer whom I privately nicknamed "Granny." 
Granny's main ambition in life seemed to be to 
escape from fresh air, and even in the close 
atmosphere of tobacco smoke and fumes from the 
red-hot stove he was wearing all the under- 
clothing he could put on, and round his neck a huge 
muffler. 



WURZBURG 247 

The presence of M. I'Abbe in the uniform of a 
private soldier was the result of an appeal by the 
Pope to the German Emperor to allow priests 
serving in the French army the same privilege 
when taken prisoners as are accorded to officers. 

I cannot describe Colonel Lepeltier better than 
by saying that he represented the typical soldier of 
Napoleonic days. His career in Saharan and 
Moroccan campaigns had already proved him to be 
a leader of no ordinary merit. He possessed a 
great number of medals, which, as a prisoner, he 
did not wear, and had been wounded almost as 
many times as he had been decorated. It was im- 
possible to get from him any account of his adven- 
tures in the present campaign, but I gathered from 
what his brother officers told me that he had behaved 
with extraordinary gallantry at Charleroi, and fell 
riddled with bullets when leading the last remnant 
of his regiment in a counter-attack to save the rest 
of the Brigade. He had been hit in the leg, his right 
arm, pierced by a bullet, was withered and useless, 
and three other bullet-holes in different parts 
of his body brought to fifteen the total number of 
wounds received during his military career. His 
wonderful cheerfulness was an example and a con- 
solation to us all. I remember when we were all 
discussing how long the war would last — this 
problem was always a subject of speculation and 
conversation — Colonel Lepeltier declared that no 



248 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

one should give any thought to themselves, or 
worry about the probable length of their imprison- 
ment. "I don't care," said he, "if wt are here for 
seven years. J'ai confiance dans la France. La 
France triomphera et tout le reste m'est egal." The 
doctor was quite remarkably like the white rabbit 
in "Alice in Wonderland," plump, short, blonde, 
closely-cropped hair, a tiny moustache, an apolo- 
getic air, and an aggravating habit of continually 
saying, "Ah, pardon." At lo o'clock M. I'Abbe, 
who was the last up, put out the lamps on the table. 
Candles were blown out one by one until the only 
light left was that of a single candle by the bedside 
of a young cavalry officer who spent most of his 
time reading in spite of the continual noise. To 
keep a candle alight after "lights out" was an 
offence which, in our room, met with instant punish- 
ment. "Rosteau, Rosteau!" some one shouted, and 
I never knew if this was a slang word of warning, 
but it was always followed, as in this instance, by a 
whizzing boot hurled at the offender's head. This 
was the signal for the despatch of projectiles of all 
kinds, — tin boxes with a bit of coal inside hurtled 
across the room and fell on or by the enemy with a 
deafening crash, hair-brushes, slippers, stale rolls 
of bread, were flying in the dark from one side of 
the room to the other. The performance was 
generally closed by Colonel Lepeltier, whose orders 
for silence were always instantly obeyed. To 



WURZBURG 249 

break the silence of the night was against the un- 
written law, except for one purpose — to stop snor- 
ing. Here it was Granny that was the chief 
offender. In spite of the hardness of my bed, and 
the impossibility of turning round without falling 
out, I think that I might have got some sleep if it 
had not been for Granny — a most kindly, lovable 
man by day, but an aggressive, vulgar fellow at 
night, for whose blood I have often thirsted in the 
early hours of the morning. The usual method for 
stopping snoring was to whistle loudly. If this did 
not produce the desired effect, a clever shot with a 
boot was sure to be successful in rousing not only 
the snorer but the whole room. 

Shortly after six o'clock the day began with the 
entry of our French orderly — we had one to each 
room — with the morning ration of bread on a large 
tray : two small rolls to each man. After the rolls 
had been distributed round the five rooms, the cups 
of coffee, tea, or milk were brought along in the 
same way. This was breakfast. I tried the coffee 
one morning, found the tea just as bad, and finally 
settled down to hot milk. Getting up was of 
necessity regulated by the fact that we only pos- 
sessed two washhand-stands among ten people. 
With washing, dressing, and shaving, I generally 
managed to spin the time out to about 10 o'clock, 
at which hour I used to take up quarters in the 
English Club for the rest of the day. The room 



250 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

which my English comrades occupied possessed 
many advantages over my own : it was far larger, 
and owing to the presence of a strong fresh-air 
party, the windows were kept open continually. In 
my room, where the stove was always at a white 
heat, fresh air was looked upon with disfavour; the 
windows were opened a few inches while the room 
was being dusted, or when tobacco smoke was too 
thick, and I, as a lover of fresh air, was in a 
minority of one. In "53" room the partisans of 
fresh air included not only the three Englishmen 
but the senior and more assertive of the French 
officers. In spite of the unanimity which reigned 
in room "53" on this debatable subject of windows 
open or windows shut, party strife was nevertheless 
very much in evidence, and centred chiefly round 
the question of noise. The room was divided into 
as many sections of opinion as the French Chamber 
of Deputies. Five officers hailing from or about 
Marseilles, who lived in a row at the far end of the 
room, represented the ultra Radicals. They de- 
clared for the unlimited freedom of man, and 
elected to make as much noise as suited them at all 

times of the day or night. O belonged to a 

party by himself. He was to sing and whistle 
whenever the spirit moved, but when he engaged in 
writing and reading, as fortunately was often the 
case, the rest of the world was not expected to 
interrupt. The English party, openly setting its 



WURZBURG 251 

face against noise of any kind at all times, was 
supported somewhat weakly by two or three ad- 
herents who were not strong-minded enough to 
accept the whole of our Party Policy, and were 
inclined to advise moderation in all things. Our 
political opponents — the Meridional ultra Radicals 
— were known as the Gollywog, the Calendar, the 
Owl, the Pup, and Consul. The Owl and the 
Calendar (so called because he only shaved on Sun- 
days, and the day of the week could therefore be 
known from the colour of his chin) were compara- 
tively silent partners to the conspiracy of noise, but 
the Gollywog, Consul, and Pup made up amply for 
their deficiencies. Their favourite occupation con- 
sisted of inane discussion shouted across the room. 
"Et autremam je dis que dans le service il faut 
tutoyer les hommes. J'ai trente-cinq ans et je sais 
ce que dis." "Ehlmonbon." This to the protest- 
ing Pup. "Vous n'avez pas le droit de parler, vous 
etes jeune, vous sortez de I'ceuf, vous sortez de 
I'ceuf." This expression of contempt for the youth 
of the Pup was always the last word of the Golly- 
wog, who would strut up and down the room shout- 
ing, "Maintenant vous n'avez rien a dire, vous 
sortez de I'oeuf, vous sortez de Toeuf." Consul, so 
called chiefly on account of his agility and quickness 
of movement, famous also for an entirely original 
method of consuming bread and cheese, took part 
in noise along with the others of his party more 



252 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

often in chorus than in solo, but none of them 
except the Gollywog had any idea what a nuisance 
they were to the whole room. 



Ill 



At 10.30, in answer to a great shouting of 
"Promenade, Promenade" from room to room, 
those who wished to go for a walk in the "garden" 
assembled together at the end of the corridor. The 
garden entrance was at the far end of the court- 
yard, and in spite of the moat and the triple lines 
of battlement, the promenading party always 
crossed the court under escort. It took me about 
five minutes to cross the yard. Irvine and Reddy 
always stayed behind to help me along. We were 
never allowed to start without an extra guard, 
sometimes two or three, but generally one soldier, 
rifle loaded and bayonet fixed. Our sentry must 
have felt, and certainly looked, extremely ridiculous 
escorting a cripple at the rate of seventy yards in 
five minutes. What we used to call the garden, 
Baedeker briefly refers to as follows : "Visitors 
are admitted to the terrace (view of town) on appU- 
cation to the sentry (fee)." The terrace extended 
about a hundred yards in length between the 
barrack buildings and the moat. The total breadth 
is not more than about fifteen feet. Most of the 



WURZBURG 253 

space is taken up with flowerless flower-beds, ex- 
tending the whole length of the terrace, with a 
double row of vines. A narrow pathway about 
four feet broad was all the space available for 
exercise. Doubtless the view from the terrace is 
very fine, and perhaps worth a "fee to sentry," but 
we were very tired of it. On the right, across the 
valley at the highest point of the wooded hill, 
stands the Frankenwarte — a hideously ugly watch- 
tower ; lower down, about half-way to the river, the 
"Kapelle," a pilgrimage chapel, looked after by 
religious, whom we could sometimes see walking 
about their garden, black dots on the far hillside. 
The Ludwigsbriicke crosses the Main far away 
below, and twice a week at the same hour we used to 
watch a regiment of infantry cross the bridge, and 
the strains of the "Wacht am Rhein" could faintly 
reach our ears when the wind was favourable. A 
group of factories form an ugly background to the 
whole picture, but we found in them a cause for 
rejoicing, the tall smokeless chimneys bearing wit- 
ness to the stoppage of work and to the power of 
Britain's fleet. Three sentries were always on 
guard during our daily walk, one at each end of the 
garden and one in the middle, although the only 
means of exit was to drop down a precipice. The 
wall on the moat-side bore an interesting inscription 
to the memorv of four French soldiers who had 



254 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

fallen at the spot when the castle was stormed in 
1796/ A number of cannon-balls, half embedded 
high up in the masonry of the barrack buildings, 
testify to the inefficiency of artillery in the days 
when our great-grandfathers were at war. There 
was one feature about our terrace promenade which 
attracted more attention from the promenaders 
than the view over the town or the fresh air from 
the hills. I cannot give a fair picture of the Festung 
without referring to it and to some unpleasant 
details which the fastidious reader may like to skip. 
In the very centre of the terrace, hard up against 
the path, is a large cesspool covered over with two 
very badly fitting iron lids. The sanitary arrange- 
ments for the whole fortress — that is to say, 
prisoners and guard — are contained in a wooden 
shed, which stands in the centre of the courtyard 
just opposite the windows of our corridor. Along- 
side this shed is another cesspool, fortunately 
properly closed in. This cesspool is emptied once 
a week or once a fortnight into an open cart, which 
then proceeds to our garden to be emptied. This 
process goes on the whole morning. On this day it 
is impossible to keep the windows open in the 
corridor, and a visit to the terrace is, of course, out 
of the question. Even on the next day the air is 
most unpleasant, and if there is any rain the cess- 

* General Jourdan was surprised and heavily defeated at 
Amberg and Wiirzburg on the 24th August 1796 by Archduke 
Charles, brother of the Emperor of Austria. 



WURZBURG 255 

pool in the garden overflows, and the narrow path 
is turned into a stream of sewage. 

As the castle clock strikes eleven, the terrace 
party are marched back across the courtyard by a 
strong guard, and I follow slowly in rear, with a 
sentry all to myself, dodging manure-heaps and 
tacking to avoid pools of dirty water and tracts of 
nameless mud, so that my snail-like progress causes 
no little worry to the attentive sentry. I spoke to 
the doctor one day of the absurdity of not allowing 
me to crawl across the yard without a soldier with 
bayonet fixed, but the doctor rather had the better 
of me, for, said he, "The sentry is not provided as 
an escort, but as a guard of honour!" 

Opposite the old doorway entrance leading up to 
our cold corridor there is another door with a stair 
leading up to some rooms which are occupied by the 
permanent staff of the fortress, perhaps by the men 
who, in times of peace, collected fees from visitors 
to the castle. In the morning, on our way out, the 
window above the doorway was always filled with 
three smiling baby faces, and on a fine day two of 
the children always took their stand outside the 
door. Francie was the name of the eldest little girl. 
She was not more than eight years old ; she wore a 
neat little blue frock; her hair was of beautiful 
fairness. She was a great friend of Reddy, and 
always answered his "Guten Morgen, Francie," 
with smiling shyness. The fat baby, not very clean. 



256 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

with tousled, flaxen curls, could only just walk, 
and held nervously on to his sister's little finger. 
Francie at first was very frightened at my appear- 
ance, hobbling along on crutches, and the poor little 
baby fell right over and began to howl right lustily. 
But Francie soon got to know me nearly as well as 
Reddy, and her pretty smile was the brightest thing 
in the whole of Festung Marienberg. 

The midday meal was at 12.30. Brown bread, 
ground-nut butter, and Gruyere cheese were extras 
that could be ordered at every meal ; and the French 
orderly, when he came in to lay the table, was 
greeted with cries from all in the room, each officer 
shouting out for what he required. "20 pf. de 
beurre" brought a small pat of quite edible butter, 
25 pf. was the price of a fairly large-sized helping 
of brown bread, and 10 pf. for a thin slice of cheese. 
Cheese and butter were expensive items, as by the 
time all the thumb-marks had been scraped off, the 
ration was much reduced in size. The soup was 
doled out in the kitchen, which, I have forgotten to 
mention, was at the end of the corridor and the 
door guarded by a sentry. The loaded soup plates 
were brought in on a large tray carried by two 
orderlies. The plates were generally full to the 
brim, and the orderly would seize one plate in each 
hand, planting a large and very black thumb right 
into the swirling soup. Waves of soup then 
splashed onto the floor or disappeared up a dirty 



WURZBURG 257 

sleeve. I never ate soup while at Wiirzburg, and 
even now seldom do so without thinking of the 
black thumb. The next and final course came in on 
the trays as before, and was served on oblong 
plates divided up into four square compartments — 
meat in one corner, potatoes in the second, and 
sauerkraut ,in the third, the fourth being left to 
eat out of. A knife and fork was provided for each 
officer, who had, however, to buy his own glass ; 
and in our room, by very special favour, we had 
been allowed to buy a coloured cotton tablecloth. 
It was very seldom that any satisfaction could be 
got out of the meat course, which was almost always 
pork in some shape or form, and the mainstay of 
every repast was provided from our private stores 
of cream, cheese, honey, and brown bread. Supper 
was, as I have said, merely a slice of cold ham or a 
sausage and potatoes. The "Gehaltsabrechnung" 
for this not very luxurious fare was 31 m. 70 pf. 
per month. Officers of the rank of lieutenant were 
paid 60 m. a month, from which a deduction was 
made for board. 

We were allowed to see two German papers — 
the "Kolnische Zeitung" and the "Lokal Wiirz- 
burger Anzeiger." These papers arrived after 
lunch, and anything of interest was translated aloud 
for the benefit of the club by Reddy, who knew 
German thoroughly. The former showed a disposi- 
tion to break forth into sensational headlines, and 



258 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

was rabidly and sometimes comically anti-English. 
On the occasion of the Heligoland fight, one paper 
announced in large print that the British battle- 
cruiser Lion had been sunk. In next day's paper 
we discovered, hidden away in a corner, the state- 
ment that the Lion, crippled beyond repair, had 
been towed into port, and that the Bliichcr, owing 
to an accident in the engine-room, had unfortu- 
nately sunk on her way back to harbour. News 
from the British front was not often given much 
space, and it was easy to guess that at the time 
there was nothing much doing in that direction. 
The news from Soissons was naturally made the 
most of, and was very disheartening reading. 

I remember how amused we were at the account 
of a coal strike in Yorkshire. This, we were all con- 
vinced, was an ingenious German lie. Much as we 
used to long to see English newspapers, I am now 
thankful that we were not allowed to see them, and 
that my fellow-prisoners are still confined to scepti- 
cal reading of the "Kolnische Zeitung," and can 
enjoy undisturbed their own imaginary picture of 
Britain at war, which a knowledge of the truth 
would quickly dispel. The long dull days of life at 
the Festung Marienberg recall a memory of much 
yearning for news of England, of speculation as to 
the date of our liberation, and alx)ve all, of an 
intense desire to witness some day the defeat and 
humiliation of our insolent enemy. But the misery 



WURZBURG 259 

of inactivity when so much is needed to be done, 
the monotony, the aimless futihty of existence that 
is no longer useful, this is the real trial which makes 
imprisonment intolerable. There are few prisoners 
in the Festung Marienberg who would not joyfully 
exchange their lot for that of a Welsh miner, and 
work till they dropped for enough bread to keep 
body and soul together. The mental sufferings of 
those who are imprisoned in Germany is intensified 
by the fear that others who have not learnt the truth 
from bitter experience will not believe. We, in the 
fortress, knew the power of Germany — could feel 
it in every incident of our lives. We lived in the 
very midst of an organisation which moves as one 
for one purpose — the destruction of European 
civilisation and the substitution of Teutonic con- 
ceptions. The truth which years before had sounded 
incredible, when voiced by the authority of Lord 
Roberts, and iiad been dismissed by the majority 
of the nation as the senile vapourings of a decrepit 
Jingo, this truth was now as familiar to us in the 
Festung as the air we breathed. 

What if the nation still fails to understand? If 
a message could come from our imprisoned country- 
men in Germany, from our long-suffering allies in 
Belgium, whose integrity we guaranteed by a 
solemn promise which we made no arrangements to 
keep, from all who know by hard experience how 
Germany treats those whom she has conquered, 



26o WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

such a message would declare that no sacrifice can 
be too great provided the military domination of 
Prussia is finally destroyed. Those who have felt 
the power of the enemy know also that if we are to 
be successful nothing less than the maximum effort 
is demanded. What this means Britain as yet does 
not begin to understand. 



IV 



EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY, EXPANDED AND 
EXPLAINED 

"Sunday, Jan. lotli. — Mass, 8.30. Snowed a 
little." 

M. I'Abbe officiated. Very nearly all the French 
officers attended Mass. From my room two were 
either too ill or too lazy, and Granny, who, in the 
early hours of the morning, was frightened of 
catching cold, did not appear outside the bed- 
clothes. The officer who used to read at night, at 
whom boots were thrown every evening on the 
stroke of ten, declared himself to be a Pagan, and 
so he also remained in bed. The choir loft of the 
chapel had been set aside for the use of the prison- 
ers, and thither we were escorted down a dark stair 
and long corridor by the usual armed sentries, one 
of whom remained with us in the church. The 
body of the church was filled with German soldiers. 



WURZBURG 261 

During Mass the organ was played and hymns were 
sung by the German part of the congregation. 
After Mass was Benediction, when it was our 
privilege to sing. Colonel Lepeltier, with a very 
powerful voice, acted as leader of the choir, the 
Frenchmen singing with great entrain, as if to let 
the enemy know they were not downhearted. On 
this Sunday M. I'Abbe preached a short sermon on 
the gospel of the day, but this privilege, no doubt 
displeasing to the lower part of the congregation, 
was afterwards withdrawn, and on the following 
Sundays we had to endure a discourse from a Ger- 
man priest. 

''Monday, Jan. nth. — Snow. A sentry com- 
mitted suicide last night in the corridor. Great 
excitement among the Germans." 

It was very early on Monday morning, long 
before daylight, that a noise of running feet outside 
the door of our room showed that something 
abnormal had happened. 

Colonel Lepeltier ordered every one to stay in 
their beds, and we speculated vainly as to the cause 
of the uproar until the orderly came in with 
"Breakfast." A sentry had shot himself through 
the head, and was lying where he had fallen at the 
far end of the corridor, guarded himself now, poor 
fellow, by a brother sentry. No one was allowed 
out of his room until the corpse had been removed. 



262 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

which was not done until several officials had in- 
spected the remains. When the request was over 
and the corridor cleaned up, a stain on the stone 
floor and a bullet-hole in the wall remained to tell 
the tragic story. Snow was falling that afternoon, 
and there was no chance of getting out to the 
terrace, so that the rest of the day had to be devoted 
to Poker and Bridge, games of which all were 
heartily sick. Reading was difficult on account of 
the ceaseless noise kept up by Gollywog and his 
merry men. Our game of Bridge was played at the 
end of the dining-table, the other end being occu- 
pied by chess, of which the Gollywog and Consul 
were the chief exponents. In the hands of these 
experts chess became the noisiest of all parlour 
games. They played on the co-operative system, 
two players sitting at the board, the others standing 
up at each side of the table. No piece was moved 
without great discussion, conducted in a loud voice, 
with much gesture. As soon as a piece had been 
moved the chess-board became a sort of storm 
centre into which even non-players seated at the 
far end of the room would recklessly plunge. 

As a result of one of these discussions two of 
our southern friends quarrelled in real earnest, and 
most dramatically vowed to fight a duel at the close 
of the war. Reddy suggested it was a pity to put 
off the encounter indefinitely, and meantime pro- 
posed the use of coal buckets at fifteen paces. 



WiJRZBURG 263 

Strangely enough this real quarrel brought peace 
to the room for a few minutes, but the parties soon 
made friends again and the noise went on with 
renewed vigour. At seven o'clock the table was 
cleared and laid for dinner. 

Dinner as usual, cabbage and cold sausage, the 
latter somewhat more palatable when fried on the 
stove to black crusty cinders. 

"Tuesday, Jan. 12th. — Doctor's visit. I asked to 
be exchanged. There seems to be some hope." 

This first meeting with the doctor was to me a 
cause of much apprehension. In the event of an 
exchange of prisoners, it was in this man's hands 
that the final decision would lie as to what prisoners 
were unfit for military service. 

Shortly after 11 a.m. a French officer told mc 
that the doctor was visiting my room. The corridor 
was very cold that morning, and, partly from the 
cold, partly from nervousness, my entry into the 
room where the doctor was waiting was most im- 
pressive. For the moment I lost control of my 
limbs, and nearly collapsed into the doctor's arms. 

Dr. Zinck is a small fair-haired man, about thirty 
years of age. He speaks English with fluency, 
having lived for some years in New York. He had 
visited Scotland, and stayed, he said, at Skibo with 
Andrew Carnegie. When no other German officer 
was present his speech and manner with me was 



264 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

always polite, sometimes verging on kindness. 
Whilst I was resting on a chair he made an exam- 
ination of my head, and read the certificate which 
Dr. Debu had given me at Cambrai. This docu- 
ment, I was glad to see, seemed to create a 
favourable impression. He then asked me to try 
and walk with one stick only. In attempting to do 
this, which at times I was well able to do, my right 
leg, fortunately, refused to move forward. The 
doctor took down some notes in his book and 
seemed to have quite made up his mind as to the 
hopelessness of my condition. In answer to my 
inquiry, "There will be no exchange of officers," he 
said, "and you will never get any better." The 
latter part of this not very cheering remark was 
fairly satisfactory, as it meant that if ever there 
was to be an exchange, my name would be on the 
list. The hardships at the Festung which I felt 
most keenly were the hard straw bed and the impos- 
sibility of getting the hot baths which at Cambrai 
had afforded me so much relief. The doctor offered 
to give me some morphia pills ; but these I refused 
to take, and asked to be given a proper mattress, or 
to be allowed to buy one. On a subsequent visit he 
informed me that this could not be permitted, 
adding that he "dared not do too much for the 
English." Such, to the best of my remembrance, 
were the very words he used, seeming genuinely 
ashamed at having to refuse such a request. 



WiJRZBURG 265 

When Dr. Zinck paid me his next visit,, he was 
accompanied by the Rittmeister Niebuhr, the officer 
in command of the fortress. It would be an un- 
warrantable insult to the German army to say that 
the Rittmeister was a typical German officer. 
Medium height, sparely built, sallow complexion, 
dark hair and moustache, with his burlesque 
swagger and affectation of dignity and authority, he 
was such a caricature of a German officer as may 
be seen in a comic illustrated paper. Hatred of the 
English and a bullying manner appeared to be his 
chief qualifications as Fortress Commander. A 
safe occupation this to worry defenceless prisoners, 
and one more suited, perhaps, to his capabilities and 
inclination than a soldier's work at the Front. My 
first introduction to this unpleasant individual was 
when the doctor brought him to see me in answer 
to my request for hot baths. I was lying in the 
English room on the corner bed, known as the Club 
Sofa. I struggled up into a sitting position, and 
saluted the visitors to the best of my ability. The 
Rittmeister did not deign to take the slightest 
notice. Dr. Zinck explained that I had asked for 
hot baths three times a week, and requested per- 
mission to hire a carriage down to the public baths. 
The Rittmeister, with an insolence of manner 
worthy of Hudson Lowe, told the doctor to say to 
"Dem Mann" that the monthly bath, graciously 
allowed to officers, according to the wise German 



266 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

regulations posted up in every room, for the pur- 
pose of personal cleanliness, quite sufficient was. 
During the whole conversation I was continually 
referred to as "Der Mann," which, according to 
German etiquette, is, from one officer to another, 
the height of insolence. 

Once a month eight officers at a time were 
allowed down to the public baths in the town. 
Those who could walk were escorted down by half 
a dozen guards, and the walk must have been a 
welcome relief from the monotony of the fortress. 
Later on, after I left, Reddy got leave to be taken 
down to the dentist, and wrote to say how delightful 
it was to be seated for a short time in an arm-chair. 
It is not often that a dentist's chair is looked upon 
with such favour. Those who could not walk down 
to the town were driven in a sort of prison van; 
most of the invalids were from my room — Colonel 
Lepeltier, Granny, and three officers, who were still 
very lame, one of whom has since been exchanged. 
Irvine, who was not quite up to walking, and my- 
self, very nearly filled up the van. After we had 
got in there was not much room for the two sentries, 
who, like most of their kind, needed a lot of accom- 
modation. It was, however, quite impossible to get 
the rifles in with the bayonets fixed. After one or 
two attempts, and after sticking the point of their 
bayonets nearly through the roof of the van, they 
finally gave it up, unfixed bayonets, and sat 



WtjRZBURG 267 

holding them in their hands. The windows of our 
carriage were of frosted glass, barred right along 
inside and out, so that we could see nothing of the 
town as we went along. A quarter of an hour's 
drive brought us to our destination. The van 
turned into a large covered yard, in one corner of 
which was a large motor waggon and a pile of 
worn-out knapsacks, boots, and military kit of 
various nature. From this yard a flight of stone 
steps led down into a basement where some men 
were making packing-cases. A long corridor led 
to the bathing establishment, which was very clean 
and tidy. The accommodation was, however, 
limited — four baths and four shower-baths. Irvine 
very kindly helped me in and out of my bath and 
assisted me to dress, the sentries meantime keeping 
a sharp look-out outside my door. When we had 
finished, the old woman in charge of the establish- 
ment came round with Mr. Poerringer, who had 
driven down on the box-seat, and collected a mark 
from each of us. As I was ready dressed before the 
rest of the party had quite finished, I made a start 
down the corridor, so as not to keep everybody 
waiting. This was at once noticed by one of the 
sentries, who zealously followed behind me ; where- 
upon I reduced my speed to the slowest possible 
crawl. 

On our return journey one of the party produced 
a flask of what is known in the fortress, and per- 



268 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

haps elsewhere, as "Quetsch," a very fiery, sweet- 
tasting, white hqueur. We all took a nip, and I 
ventured to offer some to our melancholy guardians. 
To attempt such familiarity was, of course, a serious 
breach of regulations, and they shook their heads 
regretfully. They were a most amusing-looking 
pair, sitting very squeezed up, opposite each other, 
in the corners nearest the door, each gripping 
firmly to his bayonet, both of them short and round 
and solemn, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. 

"Jan. iSth. — Inspection." — A general inspection 
of the fortress was carried out every two or three 
months. The inspection on this day — the only one 
which took place while I was a prisoner — resulted 
in my getting into trouble with the inspecting 
officer, who, as I had been warned by my fellow- 
prisoners, would be on the look-out for any pretext 
to punish the English. I was sitting at the dining- 
table in the English room, with my back to the 
door, when the inspecting party came suddenly in. 
I could not turn round to see, and did not know who 
the noisy visitors were until I saw that every one in 
the room was standing to attention. I slowly rose 
from my chair and, leaning both hands on the 
table, managed to keep a fairly good balance, which 
I nearly lost in taking my pipe out of my mouth. 
W'hen the group, which consisted of the Inspecting 
Colonel, the Rittmeister, and Mr. Poerringer, came 



WURZBURG 269 

opposite to where I was standing, they stopped and 
looked at me. "Who is that fellow?" said the 
Colonel. "What is he doing here? He is surely 
not an officer. He is not standing at attention, and 
has only just deigned to remove a pipe from his 
mouth. Has he been wounded?" "No," promptly 
responded the Rittmeister, but Mr. Poerringer 
stepped forward and corrected him. They then 
passed round the room and went out without further 
observation. Five minutes later Mr. Poerringer 
came in and said that the Colonel wished to speak 
to me in the corridor. 

Outside the door was the inspecting officer — 
large, not very tall, somewhat red in the face, no 
doubt a pleasant enough man after his second bottle 
of wine. I leant against the wall and saluted by 
lowering my head on one side and endeavouring 
in vain to raise the right arm to meet it. Mr. 
Poerringer and the Rittmeister stood frozen to 
attention, whilst the Colonel delivered a long state- 
ment to the former in order that he might translate 
it for my benefit. I was being severely repri- 
manded. Apparently the meanest soldier in the 
German army was a better-mannered man that I 
was. Of course, bad manners was only what might 
be expected of a British officer. If I did not know 
how to behave, they would soon teach me, &c., &c., 
&c. Every word of this tirade, most of which T 
understood, was then repeated in French by Mr. 



270 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Poerring-er, and his translation was certainly milder 
than the original. The Rittmeister stood by with 
an evil grin. When they had all finished, I told 
Mr. Poerringer that I was physically incapable of 
showing such outward signs of respect as were due 
the inspecting officer, and that my failure to show 
him honour was not due to any desire to be dis- 
courteous. My explanation really seemed to me — 
unable as I was even to stand without crutches — 
almost an insult to such common-sense as a Ger- 
man officer might be supposed to possess. My 
court-martial of three then withdrew further up the 
corridor, consulted together, and sent Mr. Poer- 
ringer to me to say that *'in view of what I had 
said, the Colonel had very kindly agreed to over- 
look my offence, and therefore I would be let off 
the punishment of cells." 

"Jan. i6th. — Hairdresser. The Rittmeister calls 
again." Once a week came a gold-spectacled, 
middle-aged hairdresser, accompanied always by a 
sentry with The ever-loaded rifle and the ever- 
lastingly fixed bayonet, who stood behind the chair 
in which the officers took turns for a shave and 
hair-cut. 

In the afternoon we had another call from the 
Rittmeister, whose visit this time was the most 
exciting incident which took place during my stay 
at the Fortress, and was for a long time the subject 



WURZBURG 271 

of animated discussion in all the rooms. The 
whole affair really began and ended with Gollywog. 
Mr. Poerringer came in about four o'clock and said 

that the Rittmeister wished to speak to Lt. C . 

Gollywog went out into the corridor, remained 
absent for fully five minutes, and came back with 
the Rittmeister, who advanced into the middle of 
the room and ordered "All English officers to leave 
the room." This was most interesting, and the four 
of us went out into the corridor greatly wondering 
what new game was being played. After about a 
quarter of an hour the Rittmeister came out and 
went off down the corridor, whereupon we hastened 
back to hear what had happened. The Rittmeister 
had made a most genial and polite speech. He had 
heard that the English officers had not been behav- 
ing properly, that they were quarrelsome, disagree- 
able men, and so on, for a good few minutes, ending 
up with a request that the French officers would 
kindly come to him if they had any complaint to 
make, however small, concerning the conduct of the 
English, who would then promptly be put in cells. 
"Bobjohn," a Lieutenant de Reserve, who knew 
German very well, replied briefly on behalf of the 
French officers — that they were all, English and 
French, brothers-in-arms and firm friends. The 
Rittmeister then went off in a very bad temper, 
disappointed that his clumsy plot to get the English 
into trouble had been a total failure. We were all 



2^2 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

indeed more amused at, than angry with, the Ritt- 
meister's impertinence, but many of the French 
officers thought that Gollywog's part in the affair 
was open to suspicion ; in fact, he was suspected of 
having complained to Mr. Poerringer. I think it, 
however, more hkely that the sentries, who were 
always spying and trying to see what was going on 
in the room, had something to do with it. Next 

morning I happened to meet O in the corridor 

and immediately started swearing at him in a loud 
voice. He grasped the idea at once, and I could see 
the nearest sentry watching us narrowly. Sham 
fights between the French and English were started 
at intervals during the day, with the door left wide 
open so that the sentry could get a full view. In 
my room great annoyance was expressed at the 
whole affair, and Colonel Lepeltier declared that 
the Gollywog's conduct was open to very grave 
suspicion. As a matter of fact, hardly any of the 
French officers were on speaking terms with the 
Gollywog, and so this rather unpleasant incident 
did not make any difference to his relations with 
his fellow-prisoners. 



"Send me a post-card when you have time," 
writes a friend from Germany; "letters and post- 
cards are the only things we live for." And so it 



WURZBURG 273 

was at the Festung IMarienberg. Two or three 
times a week Mr. Poerringer would come in with 
a bundle of letters and call out the names of the 
lucky ones, the officers all crowding round with 
eager faces, listening, waiting, hoping. Two 
officers only sat apart and watched, not without 
envy. One, a Frenchman from Lille, could never 
hope to hear from his wife or family, as communi- 
cation with invaded territory is not permitted. 

The day after my arrival at Wiirzburg I wrote 
three letters — one letter home, one to X.Y.Z., one 
to the American Ambassador in Berlin. At that 
time there was no restriction as to number, although 
later not more than one letter a week was allowed. 
I could not hope for news from home till the end 
of February, as six weeks was generally the time 
which elapsed before an answer came from Eng- 
land. Irvine told me that on arriving at Wiirzburg 
he had written informing the American Embassy at 
Berlin of his position, and that in reply the Am- 
bassador expressed a wish for information con- 
cerning the whereabouts of British officers. I 
therefore wrote to the Embassy stating the fact of 
my arrival at Wiirzburg, explaining the nature of 
my wounds, enclosing a copy of the certificate from 
Dr. Debu also — and this was the part I feared 
might not pass the Censor — asking the Ambassador 
to put my case before the German authorities at 
Berlin. 



274 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

By the same post I wrote to X.Y.Z., whose letter 

to Captain S had so providentially fallen into 

my hands at Cambrai. In this letter I gave a list 
— in answer to her inquiry — of all officers and men 
of whom any information had reached me at Cam- 
brai. I also drew a pathetic picture of my own 
situation, enclosing a copy of the much-copied medi- 
cal certificate, and begging X.Y.Z. to use influence 
on my behalf. 

While at Cambrai and Wiirzburg two questions 
were constantly in my mind — first, Would there be 
an exchange of officers? second. If there was to be 
an exchange, how was I to make sure that my case 
would not be forgotten ? 

Pope Benedict XV., although I knew it not, was 
working hard to obtain a satisfactory reply to the 
first question. The happy solution of the second 
must depend on my two letters to Berlin and on 
the wide circulation of my medical certificate. 

This certificate was a most alarming piece of 
evidence as to my condition, and I am glad to say 
that the event has so far proved the medical diagno- 
sis to be a pessimistic one. 

Medical men have told me that in nine cases 
out of ten such injury as is mentioned in this 
certificate results in the inconvenient habit of a 
spasmodic falling on to the floor, attended with 
foaming at the mouth and other unpleasant symp- 
toms, all of which are included under the mysterious 



WURZBURG 275 

title "Jacksonian epilepsis." On account of this 
medical certificate, which more than hinted at the 
probability of my acquiring such unpleasant ac- 
complishments, I was known to my friends in the 
fortress as "Jackson." 

My two letters had been sent off on the loth of 
January. Mr. Poerringer very kindly gave me this 
information, he himself being the Censor. On the 
26th January my first letter arrived, the first letter 
since my leaving England six months ago. It was 
from the American Embassy. Reading my name 
and address on the envelope, I began to feel a 
"person" again. The world outside the fortress 
was more real to me from that moment than it had 
been for many months. The letter dated 21st 
January acknowledged receipt of my communica- 
tion of 9th January, and regretted to inform me 
"that the question of exchange had not yet become 
an actual fact, and that the exact provisions where- 
by exchanges, when actually effected, will be 
governed have not yet been determined. . . . As 
regards the approximate date in the future at which 
the exchange of wounded prisoners will take place, 
the Embassy regrets to be unable to give you infor- 
mation. Negotiations are on the way, but no defi- 
nite agreement has yet been reached." During that 
afternoon my letter was a subject of much argu- 
ment. Never did I dare allow myself to read into 
these sentences any hope of freedom. It is better 



276 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

for a prisoner to live with no prospect of release 
than to hope vainly and be disappointed. So the 
letter was put away and kept out of mind as far as 
was possible. 

A few days afterwards I happened to meet Mr. 
Poerringer in the corridor. He bade me good 
morning with even more than his usual kindness, 
and produced a letter. This was from X.Y.Z., and 
reading this letter over now, it seems hard to believe 
that when I read it in the fortress I dared not find 
in it any hope or any reasonable ground for hope. 
"I will certainly do my very best," says the letter, 
"to get you included among those for exchange. I 
gave your medical report to the American Consul, 
. . . and he has promised to go into the whole 
matter thoroughly with the authorities. The matter 
of exchange will take some time to arrange, I 
believe, so don't be too disappointed if you don't 
hear something at once." Here, at any rate, was 
the definite statement that there was to be an ex- 
change, yet it was still a struggle in my own mind 
between hope, and fear that dared not hope, and 
fear was still the conqueror. Mr. Poerringer came 
into our room with some papers very shortly after- 
wards, and I asked him if it would be any use 
asking for an interview with the officer command- 
ing at Wiirzburg. Mr. Poerringer's reply roused 
the whole room to attention : "Vous allez probable- 
ment aller en Angleterre." Nothing more would 



WURZBURG ^77 

he say, except that a letter had arrived about me 
from the War Minister. All my friends crowded 
round to discuss whether any credence might be 
placed in Mr. Poerringer's information, and the 
verdict was that it would not be safe to take him 
at his word. Little belief existed among my fellow- 
prisoners, even after Mr. Poerringer's statement, of 
the possibility of any exchange taking place. The 
odds laid during my first week at the Fortress 
against my being exchanged were 20 to i. That 
evening, in spite of all the favourable signs, odds of 
10 to I against were offered and taken. 



VI 



Life in the Festung was becoming very hard. 
Snow had fallen heavily. For several days, owing 
to alternate frost and snow, the courtyard, whether 
a mass of slippery ice or of penetrating melting 
snow, was now a barrier to the garden, across which 
I dared not venture. The corridor was so intensely 
cold that it was no place for me to take exercise in. 
My only relief at this time from lying on a bed 
was to take a few turns up and down the room 
during the hour of the promenade, when all 
windows were wide open. Every inch of the 
picture as seen from those windows is familiar to 
me. Far away, beyond the low vine-covered hills. 



278 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

now deep in snow, the spruce woods stand out 
pitch-black on the all-white horizon. More distinct 
than usual in the snow were the quaintly-shaped 
roofs of ancient houses and the numerous steeples 
and church towers for which Wiirzburg is cele- 
brated in guide-books. Traffic on the river had 
ceased, for the big, broad barges were ice-bound, 
and only in the centre of the stream the yellow 
water ran freely, hustling along great lumps of ice 
and melting snow. Over the bridge ran the electric 
tram lines that connect the town with the large 
suburbs on our side of the river, and the cold air — 
it was now freezing very hard — carried with dis- 
tinctness the clanging, whining sound of the 
passing trams. 

Wooden huts, surrounded with a high paling, lay 
right below, but the distance was just too great to 
enable us to see if they were inhabited by French or 
English prisoners. Away beyond the huts were 
large stone and brick barracks, from where on 
Sundays a band was wont to come forth and march 
close up to the fortress, — a real German band this, 
they played extremely badly. 

During the time of the hard frost a field close 
by the barracks had been flooded and turned into 
a skating-rink, where all day long the skaters, 
black dots in the distance, circled round on the white 
board. 

The steep avenue leading down from the fortress 



WURZBURG 279 

through the wooded slope was at this time an object 
of interest. A number of small boys were enjoying 
themselves tobogganing down the rough uneven 
surface, running races, upsetting and rolling down 
the slope head over heels in the snow, with cries of 
joy and laughter. Some forty feet below the 
window, along the parapet of the inner battlement, 
two sentries stamping out a path on the snow looked 
up from time to time with suspicion at the figure 
leaning out of the prison window. Night was fall- 
ing. The two sentries were impatiently waiting to 
be relieved. At last the relieving party appeared, 
escorted by a corporal ; with due ceremony the 
guard was changed and the new sentries began their 
dreary tramp with rifle slung over their shoulders, 
beating hands and stamping feet against the ever- 
increasing cold. 

Large electric arc-lamps had recently been fixed 
outside the windows, so that a strong light was 
thrown on the parapet and wall below, and the 
sentry could see to shoot any one, utterly foolish, 
who should attempt to climb down from our window 
to the parapet — a place, even when safely reached, 
from which there was no possibility of further 
escape. Electric light is used most lavishly by the 
town of Wurzburg, and the effect of the twinkling 
lights of the city, seen from the fortress, is very 
beautiful, but one must be in the right mood to 
appreciate such things. 



28o WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

"Shut the window, Jackson, and let's have a 
game of poker." This was the voice of "Bob- 
john" — the best of friends. I have said too Httle 
of these friends of mine — both French and EngHsh 
— too little of their kindness, patience, and unsel- 
fishness with one who was often irritable and 
unreasonable. 

"2Sth. Zeppelin. A great rush for the win- 
dows." — I did not realise before how tremendously 
big these Zeppelins are. It was a grand sight to 
see the grey-white ship, big as an Atlantic liner, 
sailing over the river, and to see it turn and come 
straight towards the castle on a level with our 
windows. When only some few hundred yards 
away, so near that we could see the features of the 
men in the passenger car, the ship turned again 
and circled round the fortress, and from the win- 
dows of the corridor we watched it disappearing 
into the sunlight over the distant hills. 

This evening was marked by the arrival of a 
parcel of books, Tauchnitz edition, which we had 
been allowed to order. No doubt the publishers 
are glad of the chance to unload their stock of 
British authors, as, after the war is over, there 
will not be much demand for the Tauchnitz 
volumes. 

Early in February another guest arrived at the 
fortress — another member for the English club. 



WURZBURG 281 

This was Foljambe, from L'Hopital Notre Dame, 
Cambrai, who had made a very good recovery from 
severe wounds. Our new comrade, still very weak, 
only able to walk a short distance, arrived late in 
the afternoon, and was allotted a bed in my room. 
His experiences on the journey from Cambrai were 
very similar to mine. Although I have little direct 
evidence of how the Germans treat our soldiers, the 
information which Foljambe gave me on the sub- 
ject is conclusive. 

Foljambe, before coming up to the fortress, was 
put by mistake and left for nearly an hour in a 
soldier's Lager on the outskirts of Wiirzburg, and 
liis story confirmed what the French orderlies had 
told us about the ill-treatment of the English 
soldiers. 

"The English soldiers," said Foljambe, **go about 
like whipped dogs." Most of them were ill from 
want of food and vi-arm clothing. Any excuse was 
seized upon to inflict hard punishments, and the 
constant bullying which was permitted, if not 
actually ordered by the officer in charge, made the 
men's life a perpetual torment. Foljambe had no 
time to get many details from the men, as the Ger- 
mans hastily removed him from their company as 
soon as they found out that he was an officer. 

On the field of battle no danger could silence the 
cheerful jest of these brave men; in hospital no 
suffering had been able to damp their cheery cour- 



282 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

age. The picture of these same soldiers cringing, 
looking from left to right when spoken to, as if to 
avoid a blow, is one upon which I cannot allow my 
thoughts to dwell. 

''Feb. nth. — Nothing to record." This is the 
last entry in my diary. The doctor came again 
with the Rittmeister, and spent a long time by the 

bedside of Lieut. C , who had been shot through 

the sciatic nerve, and was apparently permanently 
lame. They left the room without taking any notice 
of me. This was depressing. 

It was understood that C 's case for exchange 

was being considered. Dr. Zinck had taken no 
notice of me on this occasion, probably because my 
case had already been decided; but this view did 
not occur to me at the time. A rumour had been 
going round the rooms that an exchange of French 
officers, but not of English, would shortly take 
place. 

The afternoon, my last in the fortress, passed 
slowly and sadly, like so many others. Poker had 
long ago been abandoned. Bridge was played with 
small enthusiasm. 

A visit to the big room near the end of the cor- 
ridor helped to pass away the evening. Here 

Captain D , owner of some big mills in the 

north of France, showed me a working model loom 
which he had made out of firewood with no other 






WURZBURG 283 

tools than a penknife. With the loom he was weav- 
ing a "carpet" the size of a small pocket-handker- 
chief. 

Fch. 12th — Der Tag. — At 9 a.m. I was shaving 
at the toilet-table in the window recess when Dr. 
Zinck came into the room alone, which was unusual. 
He walked over to where I was sitting, and the 
following was our brief but exciting conversation — 

"You are happy now." 

"Why should I be happy this morning," said I, 
"more than any other morning?" 

"But don't you know? You are going back to 
England." 

Then for one brief moment I believed, but yet 
tried to keep from showing my joy, lest perhaps 
the news were false. 

The doctor walked up and down the room in 
silence, then turned to me with a worried look. 
"Don't say anything about what I have told you. 

You and C are going away, but I should not 

have told you. I did not know you had not been 
told." And then he left the room. 

Some one announced that the van in which we 
used to go down to the baths had arrived in the 
yard, presumably to take me away. On going into 
the corridor to see this welcome sight I met Reddy 
and Irvine hurrying to hear the news, which, of 
course, had at once been spread throughout the 



284 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Fortress. We were standing in the corridor talk- 
ing, when Dr. Zinck ran np. "Nix, nix" he said, 
with his Bavarian accent, "there will be no exchange 
with England, on account of the submarine block- 
ade. A telegram has come from Berlin. You are 
not going away." 

Hope and despair now fought confusedly; where 
was the truth? Colonel Lepeltier comforted me 
with his assurance that the doctor's last statement 
was a lie; that Dr. Zinck had become frightened 
lest the Rittmeister would be angry at my having 
been told the good news too soon. 

Certainly the van was still in the yard, the horses 
had been unyoked. There might be hope after all. 
I went as usual to room "53," lay down on the 
corner bed — the Club sofa — for the last time took 
up the book I had been reading the day before, 
found my place — the last chapter of "David Cop- 
perfield." 

I had reached and nearly finished the last page, 
when the door was flung open and the Rittmeister 
entered in the well-known manner, suddenly, and 
with a quick look round the room, as if hoping to 
catch somebody up to mischief. 

As soon as he came into the room I knew instinc- 
tively what he had come for : while trying to get off 
the bed to salute I heard the much-longed-for word 
"Austausch." "You must leave at once," he said — 
"at once." 



WURZBURG 285 

Reddy helped me off the bed and down the cor- 
ridor, to say good-bye to my friends and get my 
luggage. 

Mr. Poerringer and the Rittmeister followed 
behind, the latter, as Reddy remarked, eyeing me 
narrowly. I took longer than usual in this last 
walk down the corridor. 

The Rittmeister followed into the room, went 

over to C , and told him he was to leave next 

morning, then walked round the table past the 
bed where I was sitting, and left the room without 
further sign or word. I said good-bye to Colonel 
Lepeltier and my new friends, and as it was mid- 
day Mr. Poerringer suggested that I should stop for 
a few minutes in room "53" to get some lunch. 

The meat course on that day was a dish of tripe 
which few of us could face, and while I was eating 
my bread and cheese Reddy made up a parcel of 
bread and Leberwurst for me to take along. 

Mr. Poerringer stood by the window watching, 
orders having been given that I was not to be left 
alone. 

When Mr. Poerringer remarked casually that 
the train left in half an hour, and that if I missed 
it there would be no other, I did not wait to finish 
the bread and cheese. 

Reddy put the parcel of food into one pocket of 
my greatcoat, a small bottle of beer in the other, 
and I bade adieu to my friends, feeling quite 



286 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

ashamed of and yet unable to hide the joy of my 
going. 

Reddy for the last time helped me down the stairs 
and into the van. Mr. Poerringer got in beside me. 

I said good-bye to Reddy, and for a moment 
felt miserable at leaving so kind a friend to endless 
days of a misery from which I was now free. 

As the van moved ofif he waved his hand with 
a cheery smile, and then turned away up the spiral 
staircase. 

Mr. Poerringer sat silent in a corner of the car- 
riage (the same vehicle in which we had gone down 
to the baths). We crossed the courtyard, passed 
the entrance to the terrace, the sentries guarding 
the bridge over the moat. We entered the tunnelled 
archway, went slowly down the steep hill, and 
drove through the last barrier. These things I 
could see, for the window was open. 

My thought was still struggling with the realisa- 
tion of what these things meant, and of what lay 
beyond these prison walls, when, as we drove into 
the main road, Mr. Poerringer broke the silence, 
and there was a tinge of envy in his voice, "La 
guerre est fini pour vous," he said, *'La guerre est 
fini pour vous." 



CHAPTER VIII 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 



*'La guerre est fini pour vous." 

The van drove slowly down the road which runs 
along the outer fortification of the Castle. Mr. 
Poerringer did not speak again, and I was silently 
trying to grasp the reality of the situation. 

We stopped at the hut hospital barracks where 
I had been taken on my arrival at Wiirzburg five 
weeks before. Mr. Poerringer got out and saluted 
Doctor Zinck, who was waiting outside the gates. 
The Doctor caught my eye and grinned from ear 
to ear, behind the back of some other officers; 
probably he would have spoken to me had it not 
been for their presence. I smiled at him rather 
feebly. At this time my mind contained but one 
idea — the fear that something would occur to pre- 
vent my departure from Wiirzburg. I was fright- 
ened to speak lest some word of mine might be 
made an excuse for detention. The four British 
soldiers who now got into the van were evidently 
in a similar state of mind. Two of them had 
travelled with me from Cambrai. We none of us 

287 



288 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

spoke. The door of the van shut out the face of 
the still smiling doctor (bless the man! he was 
perhaps really pleased to see me safely off), and 
we jogged slowly on. 

Our conveyance stopped in the goods station 
yard. Three of the soldiers managed to hobble 
along without help, but the fourth, the same young 
fellow in the K.O.S.B. who had travelled in my 
carriage from Cambrai, had to be carried on a 
stretcher. I followed very slowly across the rail- 
way tracks, and then along the platform to where 
our train was waiting. Two first-class carriages 
were reserved for us, one for the "Offizier" I heard 
them say, and another for the men. The train was 
full, and passengers at every window stretched out 
their heads in curiosity, but none made any remark. 
We did not stay many minutes in the station. As 
the train moved off, Mr. Poerringer was talking to 
some of the station officials and did not look up. 
He had not spoken to me since leaving the gates 
of Marienberg, and perhaps had mistaken my state 
of stupor for sulks. 

It is not often that events in life will so be shaped 
that the highest state of happiness can be obtained 
merely from the fact of finding one's self alone in 
a railway carriage. The absence of a sentry made 
itself pleasingly felt. The sitting on a soft cushion 
was a long- forgotten source of contentment. In 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 289 

ray selfish joy I nearly forgot the friends I had 
left at the Festung. 

On the left side of the line as you leave Wiirz- 
burg, the Fortress stands out on the hillside at a 
distance of something over a mile as the crow flies. 
The windows of my former quarters, where we 
used to stand and watch the trains, could just be 
recognised, and as I looked a white sheet was waved 
up and down from the English room. I answered 
back with my handkerchief, waving it until the 
Festung Marienberg had passed out of view. 

The soldiers in the adjoining carriage, having 
discovered that a communicating door between our 
two carriages was open, came in to keep me com- 
pany. M , in the K.O.S.B.'s, remarked that 

this was a pleasanter journey than the last we had 
performed together. I asked him about the other 
men who had been in our party, but he had lost 

sight of them. M looked thin and pale, and 

in far worse condition than when he left Cambrai. 
He told me that he had been kindly treated in hos- 
pital, but had been given very little nourishing 
food. Another man who was wounded in the spine 
and had been in another ward in the same hospital, 
said the treatment was fair but food short. All 
the other men complained of the want of food. 
They .said that the able-bodied prisoners were most 
willing to work to escape the monotony of prison 
life, but that they were given so little food in the 



290 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

work camps that many of them were unable to stand 
the long hours, and had to return to hospital. 

My recollection of this part of our journey is 
most vague. I took a childish pleasure in recognis- 
ing the country through which we were passing, 
and in comparing my feelings on the two journeys. 
Near the first little country station after you leave 
Wiirzburg there is a large nursery, and a large 
notice put up by Herr Somebody with the words 
"Baumschule." Farther on the train passes close 
to a large quaintly roofed building bearing the 
inscription "Jagerhaus." On the journey from 
Cambrai I had noticed these things, and my thought, 
anxious to get away from reality, had speculated 
about the Jagerhaus and its past history, and had 
wondered if the owners of the Baumschule sold 
plants at a price cheaper than obtained at home. 

But now, during the first few hours of the jour- 
ney, my mind was incapable of taking in impres- 
sions. We stopped at Aschaffenburg, probably 
outside the station. I have no recollection. We 
stopped many times in the afternoon, but we took 
little or no interest. The men had a very small 
piece of black bread each, and I gave them my 
Leberwurst and the brown bread. Darkness came 
down soon. We stopped at stations now and again, 
and rejoiced each time the train moved on. 

Night had long fallen when we made our first 
chansre. I do not remember the name of the sta- 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 291 

tion, but the place appeared to be of considerable 
size. We were helped out of the carriage by Red 
Cross attendants, and saw no soldiers with fixed 
bayonets. I was offered the choice of a stretcher 
or a bath-chair, and chose the latter. The night was 
dark and wet, the station badly lit up. 

We were taken along the platform and put into 
the Red Cross dressing-station, which contained a 
sofa, two arm-chairs, an operating-table which 
looked as if it had never been used, and a glass 
cupboard with medicine bottles, rolls of lint, &c. 
An oil-lamp hanging from the ceiling threw a dim 
light. 

After five minutes' wait an official looked in at 
the door, and was about to pop out again, when I 
asked a question: "Can we have something to eat?" 
The official said "Wait,'' disappeared, and promptly 
returned with three of his fellows. They were sur- 
prised at hearing we had not dined ( it was, I think, 
now about 9 o'clock), and seemed doubtful if any- 
thing could be done in the absence of special orders. 
The situation was made easier by my offering to 
pay. "Fiir alle?" they said. "Yes, fiir alle." 

I was wheeled off at once in the bath-chair still 
farther along the platform to the station restaurant, 
a small tidy room with half a dozen small tables 
covered with clean white table-cloths. A waiter 
came forward, helped me into a chair, and presented 
the menu. I ordered a beefsteak, with potatoes and 



292 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

peas. It was pleasant to sit down to a clean white 
table-cloth, with a plate (instead of the trough 
used in the Festung) and knives and forks and 
spoons. 

Presently the beefsteak arrived, beautifully 
cooked and daintily served. I asked for some beer, 
but this was "verboten." "Well, then, bring me a 
tumbler and a corkscrew," said I, withdrawing 
from my greatcoat pocket the bottle of stout which 
Reddy had given me on my departure from the 
Fortress. 

The price of this excellent dinner was i m. 75, 
including a cup of coffee. This was at a time when 
Germany was reported in our papers to be suffering 
from shortage of food supplies. The menu offered 
a great variety of dishes, and the only evidence of 
scarcity to be noticed was the small-sized ration of 
bread with which I was served. 

After the coffee, and cigars! the Red Cross offi- 
cial came in to say that it was time to take places in 
the train. This time we had no longer the luxury 
of a first-class carriage, but still there was plenty 
of room, as we had a whole coach consisting of four 
or five third-class compartments. The men said 
they had been given a very good dinner, for which 
no payment was demanded. 

Just before the train started our party was in- 
creased by the addition of a sentry. The men had 
all settled down to sleep in the different compart- 




FESTUNG MARIENBERG — ENTRANCE TO INNER COURTYARD 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 293 

ments, and the new arrival shared a carriage 
with me. 

He was of a very different type from the soldiers 
who had guarded us on the other journey ^a young 
man, probably of good position, and certainly of 
good education, very fat, unhealthily so, quite bald, 
and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles ; he spoke with 
a North German accent, very difficult for us to 
understand. He desired nothing better than con- 
versation, and told me all about his own adventure 
with the army that marched on Antwerp, where he 
had contracted typhoid fever which had left him 
bald and short-sighted. He was now condemned to 
transport work for the duration of the war, and 
did not hesitate to say to me that the prospect was 
distinctly disagreeable. We both agreed that war 
was unpleasant for every one concerned. 

Our ultimate destination was Flushing, but my 
friendly fellow-traveller only expected to go with us 
as far as Osnabriick, at which town we could not 
hope to arrive before midday of the day after next. 
The train we were now in contained a number of 
wounded Germans. They came along the corridor 
during the night and made friends with our party. 
Some of them could speak a little English. Like 
all the other German soldiers I have heard discuss- 
ing the war, these men expressed great reluctance 
to return to the front, and were hopeful that the 
war would speedily be terminated. This is probably 



294 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

the normal attitude of ever}^ soldier on both sides. 

The German soldier is oppressed by the unex- 
pected duration of the war. He is apparently vic- 
torious on all fronts, and still the war drags on. 
When he goes home on leave there is not much to 
cheer him up. Every one seems to be in mourning, 
and all his friends of military age are away. There 
is one thing only that enables him to face the hard- 
ships of war with unquestionable courage. From 
childhood he has been taught that the highest virtue 
in a man is loyalty to his Kaiser and the Fatherland. 

German patriotism finds its expressions in per- 
sonal loyalty to the Kaiser, and devotion to the 
Fatherland which is almost fanatical. Some people 
would say that conscription has played a large part 
in the development of this national religion of 
patriotism, but the history of the German people 
can hardly be brought to support such a proposi- 
tion. Nor does the mere fact that patriotism is 
taught in the schools provide a sufificient expla- 
nation. 

The source of a flourishing, vigorous patriotism 
may often be discovered from a study of economic 
conditions. That patriotism is afifected by economic 
conditions must at once be admitted. In a State, 
for example, where the majority of the population 
are slaves, patriotism will be confined to the slave- 
owners, who will fight vigorously to prevent their 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 295 

slaves being captured by foreign slave-owners. An 
agricultural country, where the majority of its 
inhabitants are owners of the soil they till, affords 
the most favourable environment for the growth of 
patriotic sentiment. The Serbians are without 
doubt the most patriotic people that history has 
ever known, and Serbia is a country almost entirely 
devoted to agriculture, where the great majority of 
the inhabitants are owners of the soil, so that, in 
the mouth of a Serbian peasant, the words "my 
country" refer to something more than an ab- 
straction. 

But German patriotism stands likewise on a sound 
economic basis, for Germany possesses an enor- 
mous agricultural population, the greater proportion 
of whom are owners of the soil — the figures, accord- 
ing to last available statistics, being 86 per cent of 
the total population of the country. Starting with 
these favourable conditions, the German Govern- 
ment worked hard during peace-time to strengthen 
by education and discipline the instinctive patriotism 
of the citizens. Loyalty to the Kaiser and Father- 
land, respect for the army, the duties of a citizen 
to the State, are lessons that the German child is 
taught at school. 

In addition to the economic and educational, 
there is a third factor — and most essential of all — 
in which Germany is. by no means wanting. This 



296 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

third factor is the influence of history and tradi- 
tion. 

"C'est la cendre des morts qui crea la patrie." 

A consideration of these three influences, eco- 
nomic conditions, educational appeal to the intellect, 
historical appeal to tradition, will help us to under- 
stand the power of German patriotism. 

In one of the thoughtful editorials to which 
readers of the "Irish Homestead" are accustomed, 
I find condensed into a single phrase the idea 
which I have been struggling to express. "Duty 
to one's race," says "A. E.," "is not inevitable. It 
is the result of education, of intellectual atmos- 
phere, or of the social order." 

It is very necessary, but very difficult in war, to 
keep in view the best side of the enemy's national 
character. Now among the doctors, hospital at- 
tendants, officers and men of the German army 
with whom I came in contact during my stay in 
Germany, I occasionally met with straight-dealing 
and kindness. Three there are among them to whom 
I would gladly give my hand. But though in the 
main the Germans are a treacherous race, coarse 
in pleasure, bestial in drunkenness, viciously brutal 
in war; they are also brave, disciplined, and 
patriotic. When the Fatherland is seen to be in 
danger they will fight to the last loaf, to the last 
cartridge, to the last man. There will be no su4den 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 297 

collapse. There will be no surrender by attrition. 
Ours is no easy road to victory. 

The night was well on before our visitors retired 
to their own compartment. The gold-spectacled, 
bald-headed escort fell into a heavy sleep, uninter- 
rupted by the frequent stopping at cold, dark, and 
lonely stations, where the train would sometimes 
remain quiet and peaceful for perhaps a quarter of 
an hour, but always started with a sudden rattle and 
jerk just as I was thankfully dozing off. 

Of the following day I have little recollection. 
Early in the morning we changed trains at a small 
junction. It was bitterly cold, and the platform, 
which was covered with snow, was deserted. No 
stretchers or stretcher-bearers were provided, and 
those of us who could not walk were wheeled across 
the station in a truck by two aged porters. Before 
starting afresh we had a cup of hot coffee and a 
very small roll of bread each. 

The railway now ran through a hilly and thickly 
wooded country, and our speed, which had never 
been very rapid, was much reduced by long curved 
gradients. Snow lay thick on the branches in the 
dark spruce forests. Rosy-faced children, well 
wrapped up, on their way to school, stopped on 
the hard frozen road which ran beside the railway 
line to watch the train go by and to wave their 
hands and cheer. A pale wintry sun crept round 
the horizon. 



298 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

The railway carriage was almost as cold as the 
corridor in the Festung Marienberg. Yesterday's 
feeling of joy merely at the fact of being outside 
the Fortress was now giving way to impatience at 
the length of our journey and the slowness of the 
train. 

The picture changed in the afternoon. The train 
was crossing the broad corn-lands of Westphalia, 
which, as one huge field, stretch away to the horizon. 
Here and there were patches of snow, but no 
hedges, walls, or fence of any kind, and scarcely a 
tree, can be seen to break the monotony of the land- 
scape. The farmhouses, few and far apart, present 
a lonely and desolate appearance. 

Yet another month and the newly-sown grain 
would be sprouting, and six months would see the 
rich harvest, and perhaps the end of bread tickets 
in Berlin, for Westphalia is the granary of the 
German Empire. 

Shortly after dark we again had to change trains. 
The platform was crowded with soldiers and 
civilians. The snow had given way to a drizzling 
rain, and as our train was not yet in, we sat waiting 
on high-backed wooden seats, surrounded by a curi- 
ous and not too well-mannered crowd. I remember 
one ugly old man with a pointed grey beard, who 
shook his fist at us and was full of hate, until the 
loud voice of a N.C.O. ordered him to move on. 
The moment the order rang out the crowd lost in' 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 299 

terest in our presence, and the irascible old man 
was one of the quickest to move. 

It was a great relief to hear that another night 
was not to be spent in the train, as the effects of 
cold and the fatigues of the journey were begin- 
ning to tell on the weaker members of the party. 
However, we still had three hours to travel before 
reaching the place where we were to stay the night, 
and where, the escort said, rooms in a hotel were 
awaiting us. 

It was about ten o'clock before we reached our 
destination. I am not sure of the place, but think 
it was Cassel. The station was a large one, and lit 
up with powerful electric lights. Our train carried 
a big load of civilian passengers, chiefly women, a 
great number of whom — in fact, nearly all — wore 
deep mourning. We had to wait till the platform 
was clear before the stretcher-bearers came to 
carry us off. 

I do not like being carried on a stretcher without 
straps. That evening at Cassel we had the best 
kind of stretcher, with a pillow and blankets which 
were tucked in all round ; and then with a big strap 
across the chest and another about the ankles, one 
felt quite secure. 

We were first taken to the buffet, which is at 
the far end of the station from our arrival platform. 
On reaching the buffet we were unstrapped, so we 
could sit up and take a cup of warm milk, which 



300 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

was served out by uniformed women attendants. 
We remained in the buffet about half an hour. My 
stretcher was close beside a table at which four 
big bony women dressed in black were drinking hot 
coffee. A typically German notice printed in large 
characters hung in a conspicuous position on the 
wall : — 

Speak German ! Do not use enemy language ! 

"Adieu" is French ; say instead — 

Gott beschiitze Dich. 

Gott segne Dich. 

Auf wiedersehen. 

Auf baldigeswiedersehen. 

Auf sehrbaldigeswiedersehen. 

Auf ein Rechtherzigesfrohesbaldigeswiedersehen. 

We had not seen any official frightfulness for a 
long time. Some person in authority now came in 
to the restaurant and lost his temper — not with us, 
but with the fact of our being in the restaurant. 
There was no one in charge of our party, so the 
cursing fell upon the restaurant in general; and 
shortly after the irate person had departed we were 
carried away by stretcher-bearers to the waiting- 
room, which was a few yards farther down the 
platform. 

Here we had to spend the rest of the night, and 
nothing was said about the hotel and comfortable 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 301 

beds for which our escort in the train had led us to 
hope. The waiting-room was furnished in a style 
common to most big Continental stations. The arm- 
chairs, upholstered in dark-green plush, were ugly 
and uncomfortable. The two sofas were designed 
to repel the weariest of travellers. Although large 
and lofty, the room was efficiently heated by four 
large radiators, and four enormous crystal cande- 
labra hung in the centre. 

At the far end of the room, which was in semi- 
darkness, as only one of the candelabra had been 
turned on, a lady in mourning was sitting alone 
at a small round marble-topped table. W'hen the 
stretcher-bearers had gone, the lady spoke to us 
in perfect English. "Are you the poor soldiers who 
are going back to England?" she said. "How glad 
you must be! I read about the exchange of pris- 
oners in the paper." This lady was of German 
birth, and had lived most of her life in Australia. 
She said the nations of Europe had gone mad, and 
that "this exchange of prisoners was the first sign 
of sanity that she had seen since leaving Australia." 
She asked if we had had any dinner, and said it 
was too late now to get anything to eat, but that if 
we rang the waiter would serve hot cofifee. 

In answer to the bell the waiter came at once, 
and I asked him if we could have some beer. He 
seemed to hesitate a minute until I produced a 20- 
mark note. The beer was brought in tumblers of 



302 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

frosted glass about a foot high. It was the best 
Pilsener. Britain can brew nothing to touch it. 
There was nothing in the waiting-room just then 
really altogether German except the beer (and the 
ugly, uncomfortable chairs). There was very little 
German about the waiter, who while waiting for 
our glasses to be emptied, entered into fluent con- 
versation with one of the soldiers. 

And the astonishing subject of his conversation 
was league football. The wounded soldiers, who 
were inclined to be sleepy when the Australian lady 
was bewailing the European situation, were now 
thoroughly enjoying themselves. The waiter told 
us that he had toured the North of England with a 
German football team during the winter of 19 1 2-1 3 ; 
he knew all the professional clubs, and was per- 
sonally acquainted with many of the favourite 
players in the north country. 

One of the wounded men — Private Henry, Lanes. 
Fusileers, who was an expert follower of league 
football — started a friendly but determined argu- 
ment with Fritz (as they called the waiter) as to 
the merits of the different teams. 

Fritz was a real football enthusiast. "I shall 
never play again," he said ; *T am to be called up in 
a few weeks, and even if I get through I can never 
play in England again." 

"Cheer up, Fritz !" I said ; "you have got the 
best beer in all the world, and as we arc not likely 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 303 

ever again to get a chance of drinking it, you had 
l)etter bring in another round." 

Some of the Red Cross attendants who were on 
duty in the station that night, young fellows of 
fifteen or sixteen, paid us a visit but did not stay 
long; they could not join in our conversation, and 
they refused my offer of beer with a regretful 
"verboten." 

A soldier friend of Fritz's came in to see us. He 
had been slightly wounded in Russia some six weeks 
ago, and was now on his way to the Western Front, 
much depressed. 

Fritz promised to bring in coffee and rolls at 
six o'clock (our train was to leave at seven). Two 
of the soldiers slept on the floor, and two dozed in 
the arm-chairs. Even the fatigue of the journey 
and the soporific influence of beer did not suffice 
to induce sleep on the sofa. 

Our escort of the previous day joined us at the 
train next morning. Only a single third-class car- 
riage was provided for this part of our journey, 
and as it was a very narrow one we were all most 
uncomfortable. We would reach Osnabriick at 1 1 
A.M., and there, we were told, "the exchange would 
take place." I speculated wildly as to what form or 
ceremony would be followed. The local morning 
paper threw some light on the subject with a state- 
ment "that the wounded English officers and men 
about to be exchanged were to be assembled at 



304 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

Osnabriick from all parts of Germany previous to 
being sent over the frontier." 

The train seemed to go slower than ever. We 
came to a part of the line which had been flooded, 
and a squad of men were repairing the track and 
rebuilding a bridge. The men were of military age, 
and our escort said they were Russian prisoners. I 
noticed in many places along the line that a lot of 
rough ground had been broken up and brought into 
cultivation. 

Now this work requires able-bodied, healthy 
young labourers, especially when trees have to be 
felled and roots removed, and there is no doubt 
that the prisoners of war are being used for this 
purpose. Indeed, most of the agricultural work 
is carried on by prisoners, so that the full strength 
of Germany's enormous agrarian population is re- 
leased for the fighting line. 

We had to change trains once more (the seventh 
or eighth change since Wiirzburg). Our escort, 
who like ourselves was impatient at the continued 
delay, expostulated with the station-master, who 
explained that we had followed a circuitous route 
in order to leave the main lines free for the passage 
of troop trains. Large bodies of troops were at 
that time being shifted from East to West or from 
West to East. 

The day dragged on, eleven o'clock passed, the 
hour we were due to arrive at our destination, and 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 305 

still the train monotonously bumped along the single 
track of the badly-laid country railroad. Our third- 
class carriage was very cramped and uncomfortable. 
Such carriages are really not "third-class" accord- 
ing to English notions. But we did not worry about 
mere physical discomfort. I do not know what my 
wounded comrades had in their minds. They hardly 
spoke. But the expression in the face of each man 
had been changing from the moment they had left 
the hospital hut Baracken at Wiirzburg. 

In my own mind a change had also been working 
since leaving the Festung Marienberg, with its 
omnipresent sentries, noisy barrack-rooms, and in- 
solent, ill-mannered commander. 

Now that I was no longer treated like a dan- 
gerous criminal, I began to think and act in a more 
rational way. But the change was very slow. For 
long after I had reached my own home I retained a 
silent and suspicious manner, which was surprising 
perhaps to those of my friends who did not know 
the full story of the Festung Marienberg. I have 
drawn no exaggerated picture of that prison. I am 
afraid there are places even worse than Wiirzburg, 
although in other prisoner camps, such as Crefeld, 
Neu Brandenburg, Stralsund, the conditions are 
very different, and from trustworthy accounts I 
believe that at Stralsund in particular the officers 
could not wish for better treatment. They are 
allowed to play cricket, football, tennis, &c., when- 



3o6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

ever they wish. They can even visit the town under 
escort, and have a three-hole golf-course, which 
one of my friends there tells me is "bogey nine." I 
am thankful that, owing, I believe, to the action of 
the American Embassy in Berlin, the four British 
prisoners whom I left behind at Wiirzburg have 
been sent to another Fortress in Bavaria, where 
they are allowed a considerable amount of liberty, 
and where life is much more endurable than it was 
at the Festung Marienberg. 

On arrival at Osnabriick at 1.30 p.m. on Saturday 
the 14th February, my experience as a prisoner of 
war in Germany came to an end. From that day 
to the crossing of the Dutch frontier on the night of 
Monday i6th, I was treated with all possible kind- 
ness, and every material comfort that could be 
wished for was offered or provided. I was no 
longer treated as a prisoner. 

Two private motor-cars were waiting at the sta- 
tion to take us to the hospital. Three of our party 
went off in the first car, and I with the remaining 
soldier was lifted into the other, and carefully cov- 
ered up with warm rugs by the officer who had come 
to meet the train. Both cars were driven off to the 
hospital, where my companions were to be lodged. 
The sun was shining frostily as we drove through 
the bright clean town, which is more Dutch than 
German in appearance. 

The car stopped in a narrow street opposite a 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 307 

verandah, with a flight of steps leading up from the 
pavement. On this terrace or verandah stood an 
old man, short, and heavy about the stomach, 
dressed in black old-fashioned clothes. He ap- 
proached me with a bow. washing his hands with 
invisible soap, "Goot Morgen, sir," "Goot Morgen," 
— more washing — "Is there anything I can do for 
you? You ask me. Komm this way, please." He 
crossed a large entrance-hall. The floor was tiled 
and slippery, so that I could scarcely walk on it. 
Sofas were set all round and down the centre, and 
one or two wounded German soldiers sat reading. 
They paid very little attention to our arrival. I 
was shown into an enormously big hall containing 
about 200 beds. This (from the stage at the far 
end) had doubtless been a music hall. 

The room, which was lofty, but not well lit up. 
except at the stage end, where there was but a single 
large window, had been freshly painted white. The 
beds were ranged all round, and a double row down 
the centre. 

Everything in the room was new. Beds, sheets, 
blankets, none had ever been used before. By each 
bedside was a small iron table, and behind each bed 
hung the patient's hospital outfit, the ugly striped 
pyjamas and red felt slippers. Everything new and 
spotless. 

The bald, gold-spectacled escort carried in my 
luggage, and bade me an almost affectionate fare- 



3o8 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

well. I was becoming quite inured to surprises of 
this kind. 

In spite of a notice on the wall which said that 
lying down on the beds in the day-time is strictly 
forbidden, I lay down on the bed nearest the door 
and tried to forget my excitement in sleep, but 
before very long I was aroused by voices from the 
other side of the screen at the door, and R. D. R. 
walked around in his kilt, looking just the same as 
when I had last seen him at Joigny la Chausse. 

"Well, I am glad to see you," he said ; "we heard 
you were killed, and then we heard you were in 
England." 

"How have you got into this party?" I replied; 
"there is nothing much wrong with you." 

Four other British officers followed in behind 
R. D. I had expected to see a far more crippled 

band. Major D was the worst of the four. 

One arm was badly paralysed. He spoke with diffi- 
culty, a bullet having grazed his windpipe leaving a 
nasty scar, and he had one or two other bullet 
wounds in the leg. 

M and W were very lame; each had a 

broken leg, badly set and short. Captain M 

had nothing wrong with his arms or legs, but a 
shrapnel bullet had hit him in the face, gone down 
through the roof of his mouth, and stuck some- 
where in his neck, which was bandaged up. 

The worst case of all was H , who presently 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 309 

came in, supported and half carried by two order- 
lies. No man in this war has had a nearer shave 

than H . He was shot through the base of the 

neck, and the bullet chipped the spine, causing par- 
tial paralysis on one side and complete paralysis on 
the other. I think it was his cheery spirit and sense 
of humour that helped to keep him alive. 

All of us had long stories to tell. W had 

the most to say, having been shut up for three 
months with some Russian officers who knew 
neither French nor English. The remainder of 
the party all came from Crefeld, which is not many 
hours by train from Osnabriick. 

For some reason the new arrivals were not 
allowed to have a bath. We were told that any- 
thing we fancied either to eat or drink could be 
ordered for dinner, but that if we did not wish 
to pay for our food, the ordinary hospital fare 
would be at our disposal free of charge. We 
ordered, and were served, a first-rate dinner. 

During the afternoon a party of French officers 
walked into the ward. One of them was rather 
lame, but the others seemed in very good health. 
Surprise at the meeting was mutual. They spoke 
but little English. When we said that we were the 
prisoners about to be exchanged, these poor fellows 
had just for a moment a gleam of hope that they 
also by some mistake were to come with us. We 
had been together only a few minutes when a sol- 



310 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

dier came in and took them away. In the short 
time I had, however, found out that these French 
officers had no complaint to make of the treatment 
they had received, and they informed me that a 
special difference was made in their favour as com- 
pared with the British. 

Soon after a most excellent dinner, we were glad 
to turn in. German beds are made in some strange 
manner. The bedclothes are not tucked in at all, 
but are folded across the bed in a puzzling sort of 
way. However, the bed was extremely comfort- 
able, and I slept soundly, the first time since leaving 
Cambrai. 

The next day, Sunday 1 5th, was a very long one. 
We were not allowed to leave the ward, which, on 
account of its huge size, the lack of windows, and 
the uniform whiteness, was a most depressing place. 
In the afternoon some kind of religious service took 
place in the adjoining ward — at least we heard 
singing of hymns to the accompaniment of a pow- 
erful organ — and the proceedings, whatever they 
were, terminated with "Deutschland, Deutschland 
liber Alles." 

The event of the evening was the announcement 
that next morning we were to appear before a 
Medical Board, and immediately after would leave 
for Holland. This piece of information was re- 
ceived with calm. For my part I still had some of 
the old reluctance to believe in good news, and 



WiJRZBURG TO ENGLAND 311 

Major D spoke the thought of all^ when he 

said, "We are not yet out of the wood." H , 

the 'most crippled of the party, was the only 

optimist. 

Next morning, shortly after ten o'clock, I was 
crossing the outer hall— that is to say. I was creep- 
ing round by the wall, not daring to venture across 
the well-polished floor— when the Board emerged 
from a doorway behind me. They stood and 
watched me make a laborious circuit back to our 

room. 

We stood to attention, those of us who were able 
to stand, while the seven or eight German officers 
filed into the room and took their seats at the table 
which runs across the whole breadth of the ward, 
opposite the entrance door. These were men of 
high rank, and all of a large size except one stout, 
short fellow, who acted as interpreter. Our names 
were called, and the examination proceeded in order 
of seniority. There was no hesitation about any 

one until Captain M was called. His case was 

the subject of a certain amount of guttural discus- 
sion. R. D. R. was the last and longest to be 
examined, and his fate hung in the balance. The 
Board seemed to be of opinion that he was not to 
be exchanged. . 

The discussion lasted but a few minutes, dunng 
which R. D. stood pale and with anxious eyes. 
They again began to question him. "How many 



312 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

years' service did you say?" "Three." "Can you 
drill troops?" "Very little." "Are you qualified 
to teach musketry?" "No." 

Again the withered hand was examined to see if 
any sign of life could be found in the blue twisted 
fingers. 

I think the casting vote in R. D.'s favour was 
given by the senior doctor, the only one of the party 
who was in mufti, and one of the few really human 
beings I have met while in Germany. 

Before going out the senior officer present (a 
General) made us a speech in German, which was 
translated to us by the interpreter somewhat as 
follows : — 

"It is all right ! You have all passed, and it only 
remains for you each to come and sign the neces- 
sary papers in the doctor's room. The General 
wishes to know if you have any complaint to make 
about your treatment, and if there is anything you 
are not satisfied about the w^ay you have been 
treated while in Germany you must tell us about it. 
W'e wish you to make now any complaints. We 
want you to be satisfied. You must go back to 
England contented. We want you to go back to 
England contented." He repeated these words sev- 
eral times, walking up and down the room as he 
spoke, looking around with a quick glance at our 
faces, while the Board in the background nodded 
approval. 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 313 

There were no complaints. I thought in silence 
of my journey from Cambrai to Wiirzburg, and of 
the Rittmeister at the Festung Marienberg. 

Here was the explanation of the sudden change 
which began the day of departure from the Fes- 
tung, the explanation of the first-class carriage at 
Wiirzburg station, the indifferent attitude of the 
crowd on our journey, the good-fellowship of sen- 
tries, the free and friendly intercourse with 
wounded German soldiers, the attention and luxu- 
ries provided at Osnabriick. "They" wanted us to 
go back to England contented. 

After the Board had gone the interpreter came 
back again to make sure — "Please, gentlemen, men- 
tion anything. You are all satisfied. Is good, that 
is gut," and out he went at last rubbing his hands. 

"They" had evidently given orders that the about- 
to-be-exchanged prisoners were to be treated with 
kindness, just as "They" on a former occasion had 
given orders that British wounded prisoners, offi- 
cers and men, were to be treated with a special inso- 
lence and brutality. 

This affectation of kindness now at the very last 
moment, the hypocritical pretence, was more repel- 
lent than even the insolence of the Rittmeister 
Niebuhr. 

There was, however, one member of the Board 
whose kindness was really genuine. This was the 
senior doctor in civilian clothes. 



314 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 

When I went along to the room where the papers 
had to be signed, he made me sit in his arm-chair 
and examined my head. I cannot explain the dif- 
ference between his manner and that of the others. 
Kindness, in the others so evidently sham, official, 
and by order, with him was second nature. 

"You will get well, quite well in time," he said, 
"but it will be very long. 

"Let me take your arm, you must not fall on the 
slippery floor. You might hurt yourself badly and 
not be able to leave us to-night." 

Even if I had not understood the German words, 
there was no misunderstanding the sympathy in the 
tone of his voice. 

The word of deliverance came that evening while 
we were at dinner. We were told that two motor- 
cars and an ambulance waited at the door, and in 
a very few minutes we started ofif for the station. 
As the night was dark and wet. there was some 
delay before the cars could find the platform our 
train was due to start from. We drove into the 
station by a goods entrance, and the cars halted 
quite near the train. In addition to ourselves, a 
large party of wounded soldiers, about 120 of them, 
were bound for the frontier. 

As I made my way slowly along the platform I 
saw several of these poor fellows standing about on 
crutches, one or two of whom I had met before at 
Cambrai. They were very cheery, and it was cheer- 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 315 

ing to see them and hear the famiHar query, "Are 
we downhearted ?" with its answering roar from the 
train-load of cripples. But the thin pale faces and 
ragged clothes bore witness to the misery from 
which they, the lucky ones, were now to be released. 

After waiting for nearly two hours, a German 
officer of high rank came along to make a final in- 
spection. He asked us if we had any complaints to 
make, and again repeated the hypocritical phrase, 
"We want you to go back to England contented." 
And at last the train moved off. Osnabriick is only 
forty miles from the frontier. The suspense and 
worry of the day had told on all of us, and when the 
much-longed-for moment arrived, and the train 
actually crossed the frontier, we had all fallen 
asleep. 

Wiirzburg and all that nightmare in German 
hands were already slipping far away into the past. 
The reaction found expression not in hilarious ex- 
citement or placid contentment, but in an exceeding 
weariness of mind and body. Quite early in the 
morning the train stopped at a small station well 
over the German frontier. Two ladies came along 
the corridor with baskets full of cakes, oranges, to- 
bacco, and other gifts. "Oh, you poor men," said 
a Toice in English, "is there anything we can do for 
you?" It was the first Englishwoman's voice we 
had heard for a long time (it did seem such a very 
long time since we left Southampton Water). 



o 



1 6 WOUNDED AND A PRISONER 



The voice and the kind words acted as a stimu- 
lant, almost as a shock. Although the incident may 
seem to be a trivial one, it is stamped in my mem- 
ory, for it awoke the memory of all that England is, 
of kind human sympathy, of those qualities so little 
understood by Germans. 

We reached Flushing about ii a.m. The British 
Consul and a number of very kind people came to 
meet the train and escorted us to the hotel which is 
just opposite the station. Owing to a very bad 
headache I had to spend the day in bed. 

Those of our party who were able went for a 
walk as free men on the streets of Flushing. They 
saw the arrival of German prisoners from England, 
and compared their well-fed appearance in smart 
clean uniforms with the ragged miserable state of 
the unfortunate British soldiers. About seven 
o'clock we were allowed to go on board the steamer. 
In the dining-room of the hotel I met Major Chi- 
chester, who had arrived with all the one-armed and 
one-legged men from Madame Brunot's Hospital at 
Cambrai. Many stretcher cases were carried down 
the gangway, some with bandaged heads and smil- 
ing faces ; but one or two stretchers were completely 
covered over, and one dared not think of the burden 
they carried. Yet others there were who, going 
back to England, would never see England again. 
"Are we downhearted?" — the cry was raised at in- 



WURZBURG TO ENGLAND 317 

tervals, and from every quarter of the ship came 
the answer in a convincing chorus. 

During the long and very rough sea passage my 
mind was taken up with the misery of the sea, 
which in a bad sailor is able to dominate all else. 
However, the discomforts of the sea journey only 
intensified the relief of landing on English soil 
at last. 

It was about 8 p.m. before the hospital train was 
ready to start for Charing Cross. At the end of 
the saloon in which we were travelling a large 
gramophone was playing a lively and rather catch- 
ing air. I asked an orderly the name of the tune, 
and he, looking at me with an air of suspicion and 
hesitation, not knowing the tune was unfamiliar to 
us, replied at last, "It's a long long way to 
Tipperary." 

Indeed the way had seemed long. 



THE END 



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